My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  Ye are far from innocent. Do ye not consider pleasuring yourself an act of infidelity?

  The memory of his words filled her with shame. Her fingers curled into a ball just beneath her naval. She could wait. She’d always waited with Radolfo and Luciano. Wrapping her arms around his damp neck, she collapsed against him as he carried her back inside the cabin.

  “Mayhap you could order me a bath?” she suggested, needing only a moment of privacy. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, determined to hide her disappointment.

  “Ye are satisfied?” His question was laden with doubt as he slipped out of her and set her on unstable legs atop a fur rug.

  “Sì. It was wonderful,” she lied while fire pulsed through her core and burned in her nipples.

  “Wonderful?” he echoed, holding her at a distance. The perspective of his side-long gaze told her he might be skeptical.

  She forced an innocent smile at up him. Was it wrong to protect his male pride?

  Long agonizing seconds passed before he released her and stalked across the cabin. The door swung on its hinges. “I’ll be back a ten.”

  She stood in a blind inferno, her heart beating out of cadence, waiting for the door to…

  Click.

  “Oh, cazzo!” She squeezed her breast, pinching the nipple hard, and cupped her mound in an effort to ease her discomfort. Her mouth lay open, sucking in the air she’d deprived her lungs while she’d waited for him to leave.

  “I’ll not call ye a liar, but I daresay your actions dinnae resemble those of a satisfied woman.”

  Startled by his words, Viviana jumped and then whipped her arms behind her back like a child caught with her hands in the hive. She felt him glaring at her. Was he appalled by her behavior?

  Mortification coated her with yet another unbearable layer of liquid heat. She wanted to be angry at him for this embarrassment. Damn him! His accusations regarding her conduct at Chillion Castle made her feel ashamed to touch herself. He robbed her of fulfillment, and when she protected his inflated pride he had the audacity to accuse her of wrongdoing.

  Pish! Never had she been in such an awkward situation. “Taveon, I…” You what, you imbecile? What is it you think you can say to save yourself? She swayed back and forth, thinking she could easily fake a swoon.

  “Ye are my wife, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow ye to feign fulfillment in our marriage bed. I’ll order your bath now, but rest assured, ye will not be taking it alone.”

  Chapter 22

  Taveon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, watching his wee wife chew on her lip. The three young grommets pouring steaming water into a wooden tub didn’t dare look at either of them.

  Standing in the farthest corner of the cabin, Viviana twisted her fingers round and round the belt of her scarlet-colored robe. Her cheeks remained a similar hue. From the damp warmth filling the cabin?

  Doubtful.

  Most likely the blush staining her skin stemmed for her complete and total humiliation. No doubt, he would eventually pay for his trickery, but at the moment, he held the advantage. He’d spent countless hours in that uncomfortable chair devising a way to ease into his wife’s heart. Spending himself prematurely had not been part of any one of those plans.

  Taveon rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. He wanted to be angry with her for lying to him, for not trusting him with her pleasure. However, he’d made love to her like a wild animal and could hardly blame her for his lack of skill. A skill he’d proven he possessed on more than one occasion.

  Only briefly did he recollect the women he’d bedded in his past—a handful of village maidens, a widow or mayhap two, and of course, there had been Makayla’s mother. Besides Nessa, he’d taken great care not to spend his cursed seed inside their wombs. Instead, he often found release anally. Not one of them ever feigned fulfillment. In fact, most of them experienced a far greater pleasure from his tactics.

  Hadn’t they?

  Shite! Now was not the time for him to question his skill as a lover. He focused on what he knew about pleasuring a woman. The one thing he knew for certain was that women were all different. There was more than one erogenous place on the female body, and Taveon intended to locate all of those places on Viviana.

  As he stared at her through the haze of steam, he realized he didn’t care about those other women. He wanted to show Viviana how desirable she was. He wanted to learn how to satisfy his wife, how to get her to trust him with all her desires. Mayhap then she would trust him with her heart.

  Oh, he liked this plan. She would purr at first, then moan, and with any luck he would have her screaming her pleasure within the hour. His bollocks thickened, but he refused to pay heed to his needs before Viviana was completely sated and satisfied.

  Content with his plan, he held the door wide for the grommets and their empty pails. “Thank ye, laddies.”

  Two of the three young boys disappeared down the ladderway. The lanky boy, one of Laird MacKaskill’s kin, remained in the doorway. “Have ye need for anything else, Laird Kraig?” The lad couldn’t be a day over thirteen summers. Only the tiniest bit of fuzz sprouted from his jaw. He glanced at Viviana, his black eyes twitched in the corners and his white-knuckled grip on the handle of his pail tightened.

  Taveon could hardly blame the grommet for drooling. Viviana was indeed a vision. Not to mention the only woman on board a ship filled with ill-bred, lusty Scotsmen. If he learned anything from the Duke of Savoy, it was to trust no man. He retrieved three pieces of siller from a satchel inside the desk and set the coin in the grommet’s hand. “I’ve a duty for ye.”

  The laddie bit the silver and waited for instructions.

  “Take a post at the main mast until the sun sets. If anyone dares to come within a stone’s throw of this cabin, sound an alarm.”

  “Right-o, m’laird.” The boy’s chapped lips curved upright, displaying teeth in danger of rotting.

  Taveon closed the door of the cabin, locked it, and propped the hilt of his broadsword into the lever. Content with their privacy, he positioned himself beside his wife and gently caressed the curve of her back. “Your bath awaits ye, m’lady.”

  Her spine snapped ramrod straight, but her face remained angled toward the planked floor. His grin felt slightly wicked. He was about to embark on a challenge. He’d gained her forgiveness, but he wanted so much more. He wanted her surrender.

  A shove at the base of her back was needed to get her bare feet walking toward the tub. “Might I enjoy my bath in privacy?”

  “Nay, ye may not.” He untied the knot at her waist determined not to fail in his quest.

  “I fear I’m feeling slightly ill.” She quickly derived another excuse.

  He laughed outright at her attempt to finagle her way out of the bath. “The sails are hanging like drapes from the halyards. We’ve reached a doldrum and are barely moving.” He peeled the robe off her shoulders, leaving her in her undertunic. The scent of a heady arousal drifted to his nose, igniting his senses anew.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, but not before he caught a glimpse of her hardened nipples. “It was a naughty thing you did staying behind.”

  “Mayhap, but not half as naughty as what ye intended to do had I actually left,” he teased, wanting to keep the lines of conversation light.

  Her ears glowed red. “I’m angry with you for tricking me.”

  “And I’m angry with ye for lying to me.”

  Her dark brows angled into a scowl, and her thick bottom lip protruded. He ignored her pout, uncrossed her arms, and yanked her undertunic over her head. Her eyes twitched beneath closed lids, and her hands fisted at her nicely rounded hips. The amulet lay between nipples pointed upward, red and ripe like berries just waiting to be tasted. He looked his fill and hoped she could see how beautiful she was through his eyes.

  He cupped the underside of her breast in his palm.

  She squirmed and swallowed. The pulse in her neck beat in double tim
e.

  The woman had incredibly sensitive breasts, he noted, and recalled not having touched them earlier. He was a fool, but he was learning.

  When he twisted her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she slapped his hand away. “Do you intend to punish me?”

  “I most certainly do.” He smacked her on the rump—hard.

  Her eyes snapped wide the same time she gasped.

  “Dinnae fash, wife. Ye will enjoy it,” he crooned in her ear, bit the lobe, and rubbed her sweet arse where he’d just spanked her. He enjoyed their banter, but not half as much as he was going to enjoy their bath.

  Curling his hands around her waist he picked her up and set her in the water. She sank immediately and hugged her knees.

  “I’m going to shave then I will assist ye with your bath.” He hummed as he removed the day’s growth from his jaw, completely unaffected by her silence. Anticipation was one of the greatest tools in a seduction. “If ye like, I can shave ye.”

  “I do not shave,” she retorted harshly.

  “Then how do ye dapple?”

  “It is called depilation and not a topic I wish to discuss.”

  Though curious about the process, he decided it best not to pursue the issue, but intended to have her smooth again verra soon. He dumped the contents of her toiletries onto the desk and rummaged through her personal items, searching for the soap that made her smell like oranges. Among the clutter of creams and lotions, he found a vial of rose scented oil, pearl-tipped hair pins, combs made of tortoise shell, and the pair of jeweled clips the Duke of Savoy had given her.

  His jaw clenched, reminded of what the bastard had done, but the Duke of Savoy’s actions were not to be blamed on Viviana. The fact she’d kept the gift did color his temper. However, given she’d stored the clips with her other hair adornments, he guessed she had no idea what purpose they served.

  Did he dare enlighten her?

  He barely pondered the question, before plucking the baubles out of the pile along with a selection of scents and set them atop a cuttie stool he positioned beside the tub. He bent to one knee and gathered her dark tresses into one hand. “Put your head back.”

  “I can bathe myself.”

  A little tug forced her to follow his instructions. “I have taken care of ye for more than a sennight.” Using a copper cup, he poured hot water over her head. “This bath should be no different from the one I gave ye three days passed.”

  “It was a sponge bath, and I was barely conscious.”

  “Then I daresay ye are overdue for a good scouring.”

  She exhaled with a rumble. Oh, the woman was cursing him in her head. No doubt a slew of foreign expletives sat on her tongue. Surprisingly, she held on to them.

  Taveon lingered over his duty, mayhap to torment her, but mostly because he enjoyed pampering her. After rinsing her raven hair, he attempted to pull a comb through the tangles.

  “Uffa!” She reached over her head, swatting at his hand.

  “Shush, woman. Your hair is a mass of knots. ‘Tis just like Makayla’s.”

  Her shoulders fell and her head tilted. “You wash your daughter’s hair?”

  “When I can catch her.” Taveon crooked his neck in time to witness her smile. “Ye are surprised?”

  Viviana nodded. “I assumed Makayla had a nursemaid to tend such tasks.”

  Taveon thought of Poppet and how her every breath invoked fear at Ravenhurst. “My kin are a superstitious people. As the only female descendant of Kael Kraig, Makayla is seen by some as a portent of the curse. She was born a hundred years and a hundred days after Elise cursed the clan. The kinsfolk choose to believe her existence is an omen. I’m inclined to believe she represents just the opposite.”

  Viviana held silent while he fought her tangles. He eventually won the battle.

  “Does Makayla have any friends?”

  “Aside from the animals she harbors in the stable, she has me, and her Uncle Keegan and Auntie Cora.” Taveon thought of the women in the burial ground—the spirits Makayla claimed danced around the ancient stone. They had been Makayla’s friends until Lily came. “Remi’s youngest, Jack, tries to browbeat her, but she is older and can hold her own against him. She has one friend—Lily. But the child is mute.”

  “I will not treat her in like. I know what it is like to be alone. The orphanage wasn’t exactly a feeding ground for long lasting friendships. Makayla will never know such isolation as long as she accepts me as her friend.”

  Pressure built behind his ribs. He’d hoped Viviana would accept her place as Makayla’s mother. “She’s a bundle of high energy and is sure to test your patience. I fear I have coddled her, and she is in need of a heavy hand and much discipline.”

  Viviana snorted. “I can assure you, I will not be the bearer of such discipline. I saw enough heavy handed punishments delved out at Spedale degli Innocenti. Sister De Rosa once beat a maid with a switch for dying a vestment red instead of purple during the Lenten season.” Viviana propped her chin between her knees. “I fear those who played a motherly role in my life set a poor precedent for me. My own mother didn’t want me, and Sister De Rosa abandoned Fioretta and I for a monk. I’ve received little maternal instruction, but I give you my vow of commitment; I will never abandon your daughter.”

  “I’ve every confidence ye will make a good mother.” Taveon twisted her thick hair into a braid which he draped over her shoulder. He pushed thoughts of his kin aside and bent to kiss the curve of her neck, eager to return to his previous task.

  The action brought Viviana out of her musings with the snap of her spine.

  With the backs of his fingers still resting against her neck, he set the comb down atop the cuttie stool.

  “Where did ye get those?” Her tone lifted in horror.

  “Get what?” He glanced back at the contents sitting atop the cuttie stool.

  “M’laird, I swear on all that is holy I only kept the hair clips because of their value. They mean naught to me.”

  “Should ye decide to part with them, I suspect they would bring a good price.” He trailed his lips up her neck, not yet willing to share his secret.

  Her fingertips dented the sides of her calves. “Then you are not angry that I kept them?”

  “Nay.” He rose to remove his braies and chausses. Taveon refused to allow the Duke of Savoy back into his head and stepped in behind her.

  “What are ye about, m’laird?” She scooted forward as far as she could in the tub, which wasn’t far given its size.

  “I’m joining ye.”

  “There is hardly room,” she argued, panic warbling her voice.

  “Then I’ll make room.” He lifted her beneath her arms, took her place, then curled an arm around her waist and pulled her back atop him. Water flooded over the rim with his added bulk and sloshed all over the cabin floor. He would clean it later.

  She squealed and squirmed, wiggling her rounded backside atop his erection. A battle of limbs ensued. Her arms shot out and clung to the edges while she fought the invasion of his legs between her thighs. He was hardly limber, but somehow managed to drape his legs over the edge of the tub, forcing her knees wide over his own.

  “Settle, wife.” The press of three fingers against her forehead forced her head atop his shoulder. He drank in the sight of her. Water filled her navel, but covered little else, gifting him with a spectacular view of her upturned nipples.

  “M’laird, this is indecent.” She covered her breasts.

  “Nay. ‘Tis not. We are husband and wife. Anything we choose to do in private has been sanctioned by our marriage contract. Anything,” he repeated for emphasis and reached for the rose-scented oil. He positioned the amulet in the hollow of her neck then tipped the vial. A single droplet splashed between her breasts. “Now remove your hands.”

  She didn’t oblige, but her backside flexed around his cock. He let another droplet fall.

  “Two is enough,” she said.

  Two drops would
n’t be enough for what he intended. He poured the entire contents between her breasts and down her stomach, knowing the slickness would aid him later.

  “M’laird! That was a very expensive oil.”

  “I’ll buy ye more.” He massaged the slippery substance into her skin, nearly choking on its potency. Within seconds a film coated the water’s surface and seeped into his pores. He would most likely smell like a woman for a sennight, but it would all be worth it.

  “I never want to deprive ye of fulfillment again.” He shadowed her hands with his own and pushed her fingers over her navel toward her womanhood. “Show me how ye like to be touched.”

  She whipped her hand out from beneath his and grabbed hold of the rim. “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you not the same man who said pleasuring yourself was an act of infidelity?”

  “Nay,” he strongly corrected her. “I said to do so in front of another man was an act of infidelity. To pleasure yourself in front of your husband is an act of trust.” A trust he had every intention of gaining. He retrieved her hand and returned it to her breast. “Show me.” He kissed her temple and squeezed.

  The back of her head pressed into his shoulder and the rise and fall of her chest told him she wanted to participate, but was leery.

  “Please,” he whispered in a hoarse voice and kissed her jaw.

  Slowly, she slipped her fingers out from under his and then covered his much larger hand with her own. She pinched his fingers over her nipple, showing him how much pressure she wanted him to apply.

  He pulled her nipple out from her body, stroking the taut pebble like a tiny cock. He repeated the action with her other breast, pinching a little harder this time, testing her.

  She moaned.

  “Ye like it rough?” His bollocks tingled. He would give his sword arm to have his wife share his desire for aggression in their marriage bed.

  “Sì, sì,” she hissed, shuddered, and slid her hand down her thigh, yet didn’t quite make the plunge to where he knew she ached most.