The Highlander's Stolen Bride

by Melanie George

  “I should be apologizing for that,” came Lucien’s voice as he moved into the hall. “I unfairly commandeered your friend. I hope you will forgive me, considering I made an honorable woman out of her in the end.”

  Rosalyn’s gaze shifted from Lucien back to Fancy, who inserted somewhat sheepishly, “Rosalyn, may I introduce you to my husband?”

  Rosalyn stared for a full ten seconds, and then launched herself into Fancy’s arms again. “How wonderful! I knew you two were meant for each other right from the start.”

  “I know I always said you would be my maid of honor,” Fancy said, “but everything happened so fast. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Rosalyn squeezed Fancy’s hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m just so happy you’re here. I’ve missed you desperately.”

  “And I, you. Now, tell me, what has been going on? Why were you outside, and shoeless?”

  “Oh, yes—that,” Rosalyn said. Amazingly, she had forgotten what had just transpired. “Well, I was abducted.”

  “What?” Derek bellowed.

  “Who?” Lucien demanded.

  “When?” Anthony insisted.

  “Again?” Fancy said, the only calm voice in the bunch.

  Rosalyn sighed. “Yes, and it grows very tiresome. I have begun to think that I will be relegated to bunking in the breakfast salon if I wish to sleep through the night. My bedroom has become a place one goes if one does not wish to actually sleep.”

  Derek growled impatiently as he took hold of Rosalyn’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “Who abducted you?”

  She stared at him. “Why, Calder, of course. Who else?”

  “Who else, she asks,” Derek muttered, to which Anthony shook his head.

  Noting the new person in the group, Rosalyn smiled. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” Anthony replied, returning her smile. “I’m glad to see you back unharmed, my lady.”

  “Thank you…”

  “Lord Anthony Tremayne,” Lucien filled in. “Ne’er-do-well and occasional philanthropist, as long as the philanthropy is directed at himself.”

  In the calmest tone Derek could muster, he said, “Rosalyn, where is Westcott? Is he still here or has he run off?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Derek cursed beneath his breath. “How could the man have slipped in and out undetected? My men will answer for this.”

  “My lord,” Rosalyn said, trying to get his attention.

  “I will see my men doubled. No, tripled! He will not get in here again without a bullet between his eyes—I promise you that.”

  “My lord,” Rosalyn interjected more forcefully.

  “I’ll hunt the slimy maggot to ground. He’ll not make a fool of me again.”

  “My lord!” Rosalyn nearly shouted, out of patience.

  He swung around to face her, a frown on his face. “What?”

  The man could be so damn thick sometimes. “I know how Calder got in.” She hated to tell him so bluntly about poor Carew, but she had no other choice. “It seems he substituted himself for Carew in the coffin.”

  “Substituted?”

  “He removed Carew’s body in London, drilled a small hole for air, and traveled here in his place.” In a soft voice, she added, “I’m so sorry. Carew didn’t deserve such an ignoble end.”

  Derek stood unmoving, his face having lost some of its color.

  Rosalyn laid a hand on his arm to comfort him. Eventually, his gaze lifted, and the expression in his eyes was murderous. “Where is the bastard?”

  “In the church vestibule.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” It would do no good to tell him of her terrible fright, or the horror she still felt, thinking she would be buried alive. “He merely took me by surprise. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a coffin.”

  Three pairs of eyes stared at her.

  “He put you inside the coffin?” Lord Tremayne asked in a disbelieving tone.

  “Yes.” Rosalyn forced back a shiver.

  “How did you get away?” Fancy asked.

  “Through no virtue of my own, I’m afraid. Derek’s brother was closer than we all thought.”

  Derek frowned. “Ethan? What did that blighter do?”

  “He spotted Calder carting me off and followed. When Ethan engaged in a fight with my stepbrother, Calder fell back against the corner of the altar. He’s dead.”

  “So where was Ethan all this time?” Fancy queried.

  “In an antechamber that he claimed a group of pagans used for secret rituals hundreds of years ago.”

  “My father had that ‘secret antechamber’ built when he became laird,” Derek said. “He thought it fun to fool people into believing the castle had a ghoulish history.”

  “Seems your brother has quite the imagination,” Fancy remarked, amused. “I should like to meet him.”

  Rosalyn glanced at Derek. “He is on an extended hiatus at the moment.”

  Derek turned his gaze to Fancy. “Might I prevail upon you to take Lady Rosalyn back to her room? She needs her rest.”

  The request, made without any emotion, was a blow to Rosalyn. Derek wanted her out of sight. Clearly she had caused him enough trouble, and he wanted to be done with it.

  Fancy nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

  Derek pivoted on his heel, then stalked to his office and closed the door soundly after him.

  Twenty-three

  D erek wrenched the stopper from the brandy decanter. Instead of pouring the standard two fingers, he went for four. Then five. He downed half of the potent brew in his first swallow and closed his eyes.

  He had almost lost Rosalyn tonight. His inability to protect her had nearly cost the woman he loved her life—and it had all happened beneath his very nose, with him none the wiser.

  He had been so sure he could save Rosalyn from any danger that presented itself, but when the time came to prove it, it had been Ethan who saved her. Ethan, who had saved Megan.

  Ethan, who had saved Derek himself.

  Rosalyn stared out the same window that Derek had so recently stood in front of. What had he seen when he looked out into the dark void of the nighttime sky? The same emptiness she now saw? An emptiness that matched what she felt inside?

  What was to keep her here now? Calder was dead. She had been hunted for so long, and then in minutes, the threat had been eliminated. She had lived under that threat for so long, it was hard to believe it no longer existed.

  Now she had to face the real reason she had to leave: she loved Derek. He had walked out of her dreams, her fantasies, and into her life and heart. He deserved a woman who was whole, not one who was barren.

  Scarlet fever had left her without the ability to have children, and no man would accept that? Men wanted heirs to continue the family line.

  Fancy came to stand beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Just tired.” Her thoughts would not let her be.

  “Our lives are changing.”

  “I know. It seems like yesterday when we were scaling the rocks at Meadow’s Cove,” Rosalyn said.

  “Or following seagulls down the beach.”

  “We’ve grown up.”

  “It seems we have,” Fancy murmured. “It’s a bit frightening.”

  “You’ve never been scared a day in your life. That’s my territory.”

  Fancy cocked her head, an incredulous look on her face. “You don’t actually believe that? I’ve been scared more times than I care to admit.”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Because I didn’t want the world knowing what a coward I am.”

  “You?”

  Fancy nodded. “I wish it weren’t so, but it is. I never realized how frightened I was until Lucien came into my life. I had built a wall around myself after my parents died, refusing to look at things for what they were. It got worse when Grandmother and George passed away. I felt so alone, so helpless. But I had
you,” she said with a smile, squeezing Rosalyn’s hands. “You were my salvation.”

  “And you were mine.”

  “And now you’re free.”

  But what exactly did her freedom give her?

  Pulling Rosalyn toward the bed, Fancy sat her down. “Why don’t you tell Derek how you feel? You can’t deny it, it’s in your eyes. And Derek’s.”

  Rosalyn glanced down at her hands. “A relationship between us is not possible.”

  “He’s an available man, and you’re an available woman.”

  “But I’m not a whole woman!” Rosalyn cried.

  Fancy sighed. Loudly. “Good Lord, Rosalyn, tell me you aren’t going to base your future on something that may or may not be true. You may very well be capable of carrying a child. Many children, in fact.”

  “But the doctor—”

  Fancy waved a dismissive hand. “He was probably an old coot who brandished some textbook theory he’d learned in his youth. Have you ever spoken to a doctor since then?”

  “No.”

  “For all you know, you could be fertile.”

  Rosalyn cautiously considered the possibility. “But what if I’m not?”

  “Then there are plenty of orphaned children who would feel blessed to have such a loving mother. And any man who loves you—truly loves you—would stand beside you.”

  Perhaps that was what Rosalyn feared even more than being barren; that the man she chose to love didn’t love her enough in return. She was afraid of taking that chance.

  “Think about it, won’t you?” Fancy quietly asked. “Your happiness means more to me than anything.”

  “As does yours to me. Is Lucien making you happy?”

  Fancy’s eyes sparkled. “I’m thoroughly in love with my husband. I have to pinch myself every day to make sure I’m not dreaming.” She took Rosalyn’s hands. “And I wish that same love for you. Believe in yourself as I believe in you.”

  Fancy nodded and watched her friend leave, wishing beyond measure that she could have what Rosalyn had: a love that would last a lifetime.

  Derek stared into the dying fire and listened to the clock on the mantel chime three in the morning. Even with several glasses of brandy in him, he was unable to sleep. His mind kept drifting to images of Rosalyn.

  The way she had looked the night they first met, dressed in a lemon-hued chiffon gown that could not equal the sunshine of her smile.

  The way she laughed when she was riding a horse full out.

  How her eyes lit up whenever she spoke of her parents or Lady Francine.

  And the way those eyes looked at him when he was making love to her, as though he was the only man in the world, setting his soul on fire.

  The creak of a floorboard brought Derek swinging around in his chair. A figure emerged from the shadows. “Rosalyn?”

  She was dressed in a wrapper over her nightgown. Her beautiful face held a look he could not interpret. He rose from his chair.

  “Are you all right? Has something happened?”

  Rosalyn shook her head. She had rehearsed what she had wanted to say, knowing the only way she would make it through was if she had her speech memorized.

  But now that she was here with Derek, she wanted one more touch, one more taste of his mouth. Another memory to keep close to her heart.

  She let him lead her to the fireplace, where she stood in front of him. Her hands reached for the ties to her wrapper, which she let puddle at her feet.

  A white ribbon wove delicately through the bodice of her silk nightgown. She undid it with a single tug, the barest shimmy sending the material sliding in a whispered caress over her skin, her naked body reflecting the soft glow of firelight.

  Rosalyn leaned forward and kissed him, her hands sliding up his soft cotton shirt, her fingers twining in his hair.

  He pressed her down on the sofa, his arousal a hard, hot length against her belly, and she moved urgently against him, reveling in the hungry moan that rumbled up his throat and the way his hands tensed against her sides.

  Her legs spread around his hips; her pelvis ground against his. His lips swept along her neck, lavishing kisses on every bit of skin, warming her from the inside out, making her tremble with longing.

  His lips trailed down the valley between her breasts. Rosalyn bit her lip as Derek’s big, warm hand settled on her breast, cupping, massaging, lightly teasing her nipple until it peaked.

  Her hand moved instinctively to the waistband of his trousers, sliding provocatively over his erection as his mouth slanted over hers with mounting passion.

  Rosalyn felt encompassed in a delirious haze, losing herself more and more with each passing second. Her fingers moved feverishly to undo the buttons on his shirt, then his trousers, both their hands working to free him with haste.

  She arched up as his mouth closed over her nipple, her body twisting under his, wanting more.

  He manacled both her wrists in one of his hands, holding them above her head as his free hand traveled down her side, gently squeezing her waist, the warmth of his palm settling over her stomach, massaging in slow circles, making her nearly crazy with desire.

  She wanted his hands down there, his finger slipping between her moist folds. She could feel how ready she was, how wet and throbbing. The tension was almost too much to bear.

  She freed one of her hands and gripped his upper arm, her fingers digging into the taut band of muscle, and she lifted up to press a kiss to a small, jagged scar.

  He watched her as her lips softly feathered over the injury, her eyes never leaving his as her tongue lightly lapped his skin.

  A husky growl traveled up his throat before his mouth came down over hers in a demanding kiss that took her senses away. The heat rising from his body was heady and intoxicating, as a heaviness built at the juncture of her thighs.

  He took hold of her hand and moved it up his inner thigh so that her fingers brushed the hardness centered there. Her body quivered as she inched her fingers up, her left hand sweeping against his rigid length. She heard his sharp intake of breath.

  He was so virile, so heavenly built. A male in the prime of his life, but with a tempered maturity that made him all the more intoxicating.

  She took hold of his erection, massaging him, feeling him swell. Air hissed through his teeth as she cupped him and scratched lightly with her nails.

  When she looked up at his face, she saw passion barely in check. He rolled to his back and dragged her across his lap, her naked thighs straddling him. He rocked his erection against her cleft.

  He cupped her breasts, and Rosalyn moaned as his thumbs swept across the rigid peaks, making her mindless with desire as he flicked and rubbed and rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her inner lips clenched, a throbbing churning deep inside her.

  He tugged her forward, and his tongue flicked a nipple, moistening it, circling, lapping, her body quickening with each passing second.

  He moved to her other nipple to lavish it with the same attention before cupping her breasts and pushing them together, drawing one sensitive nub deep into his mouth and then moving to the other to offer it the same attention.

  All Rosalyn could do was hold on to his shoulders and pray she didn’t faint from pleasure.

  The first touch of his finger against her engorged clitoris made Rosalyn buck; the erect tip was hot and exquisitely sensitive, pouring ecstasy through her veins as his mouth created wet paths between her breasts.

  She writhed, mindless for that sweet release she knew he could give her, until her back arched, her entire body tensing, lightning gathering deep inside her and spiraling upward as her first convulsion pulsed through her, followed by a second and a third and a fourth as Derek swept a finger inside her, her sheath clutching him with each contraction.

  He began to pump, raising her desire once more. She wriggled, wanting him to go deeper, and heard his harsh groan. She ground her hips against him, and he grabbed hold of her wrists, pinioning them at her sides as he stared
into her eyes.

  With a deep, almost desperate breath, he leaned back and slid into her, her swollen tissue clenching around him as he began to pump, her body sighing into him with each thrust.

  He rocked her, his thrusts growing faster, his face racked with an expression that was near to anguish, sweat dampening his brow as he forced himself to slow, slipping out of her entirely in the next moment to massage the nub between her dewy folds with his hot, silky shaft.

  Rosalyn cried out with another explosive orgasm, her nails digging into his back as he drove into her again, his hands gripping her buttocks, pulling her tighter against his groin as he plunged deeply.

  Suddenly, he snaked his arm behind her back and turned her over so that she was on her hands and knees. He grabbed hold of her hips and slid into her again, her passage wrapping tightly around his shaft as he stroked in and out of her.

  He reached his hand beneath her and began massaging her swollen nub, her hair a wild jumble around her face, the long length cascading over her shoulders, her taut nipples peaking through the golden veil each time he pumped.

  Mindless, Rosalyn panted his name as he rocked inside her until another shattering release washed over her, and he finally found his own release.

  Derek gathered her into his arms and cradled her, his arms wrapped snugly around her waist, their fingers entwined, the fire a soft, warm glow against their skin. In that moment, no wrong existed in the world, and everything that meant anything to her was there on the couch holding her tight.

  But reality intruded all too soon. There were things she must tell him, and if she didn’t say them now, she might never be able to.

  Rosalyn looked into his eyes, and what she saw made her heart turn over. She loved him. All she knew was that she wanted to be with him—but a daunting hurdle yet remained.

  “I can’t have children,” she told him. “I’m barren. You deserve to know.” She closed her eyes. “You deserve a woman who is whole. One who can bear your children.”

  Derek smiled lovingly. “I have a woman who is whole—and she’s beautiful, smart, courageous, sensuous, daring, stubborn, and magnificent. Her laugh touches my heart. Her smile feeds my soul. You’re the only woman I want, Rosalyn. Did you think I would leave you because of this?”