The Taming of Malcolm Grant

by Paula Quinn

  “I hope I didn’t frighten Miss Grey too much,” he said to Malcolm when the Highlander came near. “I came upon her in the kitchen,” he explained when Harry questioned him.

  “She was well when I last saw her, Fletcher,” Grant told him. “She does no’ frighten easily.”

  Aye, Sebastian remembered.

  “She’s pleasing to the eye.” He slipped his eyes to her brother. “Are you certain you will accept no offer for her?”

  “I’m certain, Fletcher,” Grey stammered.

  Sebastian laughed and shrugged his shoulders, turning back to Grant. He expected some kind of reaction from the Scot. But he wasn’t sure he could call what he got a reaction. It was more like a stare with the cold promise of death in its glacial depths. No boast that she was his. No words at all, but a blaring warning nonetheless.

  Grant and the proprietor’s sister cared for each other. Sebastian had thought so, but he had to be certain. Now he was. How long were the Grants here for the brothers to have formed relationships with the women? Perhaps they were here for the fight.

  The best way to get men to talk was to get them drunk. He brought another round and laughed with the others when Harry, retiring for the night, stumbled up the stairs.

  “I think I’ll be goin’ to bed as well.” Grant stood up. He turned to his brother. “Comin’?”

  “Aye,” Cailean advised with a slight smile. “But I’ll be sleepin’ in Alison’s room tonight.”

  Malcolm smiled, then looked a little worried. “Dinna’ overdo—I mean—take care to—Hell, nothin’ at all. Good night.”

  “Was he ill, wounded?”

  “What?” Malcolm turned and saw Fletcher behind him.

  “Your concern,” Fletcher explained. “Is he recovering from something?”

  Sebastian was tempted to look away from the power in Grant’s sea-foam eyes. He seemed to be searching through Sebastian’s thoughts, trying to pull him into the light to find the truth. No, he didn’t suspect anything. Sebastian almost smiled to himself. He couldn’t panic. He wouldn’t.

  “He’s a virgin,” Malcolm finally said.

  Sebastian grinned. “In that case, I envy him.”

  Malcolm eyed him. “Ye look quite young to envy such a thing.”

  “I was introduced about a year ago and have been practicing often.”

  Malcolm laughed and picked up his steps.

  “I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind.” Sebastian hurried after him. “I paid for a room but I’m not sure which way to go.”

  Grant nodded, accepting his company.

  “By the way, I didn’t mean to step on your boots,” Sebastian told him as they continued their way up the stairs. “I didn’t know you fancied Miss Grey.”

  Grant cut him a shrewd glance, his half smile tainted with doubt and embellished with a deep dimple. He didn’t say anything though he suspected Sebastian wasn’t telling him the truth.

  A perceptive enemy was the most dangerous kind.

  Sebastian would have to use a bit more caution around this one in the future.

  For now though, should he continue this deception and risk losing Grant’s trust, or go another way—a way less expected?

  He remained silent for three more stairs, then threw up his hands. “All right, I confess the notion that you cared for her passed across my head. But I didn’t know if it involved your heart or just what’s in your breeches. As a man of honor, I’ll not go after another man’s woman. Rather than ask and perhaps embarrass her, I knew a degrading offer for her would surely offend a man who cares for her. You were easy to read.”

  Grant’s smile faded. “Was I?” His shoulders, broad as a damn mountain, straightened a bit more.

  This wasn’t so difficult, Sebastian mused, maintaining his expression of sympathy. Grant was hiding his affection from Harry Grey or Cailean Grant. He had no reason to keep it from his brother, so Sebastian determined that Malcolm was keeping Harry in the dark. Sebastian didn’t need to know why.

  “Known her long?”

  “Long enough.”

  Sebastian smiled and nodded. Perhaps not so easy. No matter, tomorrow was another day. He didn’t want to push too much. Just one more thing he wanted to know.

  “There are whispers about her,” he said, moving closer and lowering his voice. “They claim she escaped her abduction. Seeing she’s a slight woman, and blind no less, I think it was you who rescued her. Am I correct?”

  Honesty disarmed the enemy every time. Sebastian could see the effect it had on this Scot. It created trust—small doses they might be, but trust nonetheless.

  “Aye,” Grant admitted, turning to him, his voice a low drum, his gaze, defiant and proud, like an unmovable mountain when he told Sebastian what he’d done to her attackers.

  “I would have done the same,” Sebastian told him honestly. What the hell was wrong with Oliver to kidnap a blind girl? Her abductors deserved what they got. “But I’d heard there were three men.”

  “Yer curiosity is starting to rub me wrong,” the Scot said in a low warning voice that didn’t rub Sebastian too well either.

  No. Sebastian had to back up. He’d gone too far. “In truth,” he said, breathing out a self-deprecating laugh, “I have a wager on whether or not she fought on her own or had help.” He grinned. “You just earned me a hundred pounds.”

  He was relieved to see Grant’s hard expression soften. Perhaps Sebastian’s new friend even smiled before he turned for the dimmer lit western hall.

  Sebastian went in the opposite direction. He walked about fifteen feet when something soft stepped into his path.

  “Ah, a beautiful lost boy.” Her low, decadent voice was like pure sin to his ears. Bess. “Let me help you find your way.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. Out of all the girls at Fortune’s Smile, Bess was the most useful. At least, he hoped so.

  “Lead the way.” He offered her a path to take. “But I should warn you. I’m a man, not a boy.”

  Alison lay in her bed gazing into Cailean’s eyes. She never expected to fall in love with a patron, but here she was, ready to give her heart, besides her body, to a man. She giggled at the sounds of Bess’s passion seeping through the walls. It emboldened her to climb atop him and begin removing his clothes. He didn’t speak, but stared at her in the candlelight while she took in the sight of him. She knew he was a virgin; she didn’t know that he was a virile piece of artwork crafted to make her lose her mind.

  “You have nae mercy fer m’ wound.”

  She leaned down and kissed a trail down his bare chest, stopping at his scars. “If I harm you, I’ll just mend you back together again.”

  He grew serious while he unlaced her gown and slipped it off her shoulders. “I knew ye’d be mine the first night I laid eyes on ye.”

  “Here I am,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Here ye are,” he said, kissing her once, and then again. “Restorin’ life back to me.”

  “And you bring hope to me.”

  She lifted the rest of her skirts over her head, freeing their bodies from the last restraint of clothes. She knew what she was doing even if he didn’t, and she did it well. He learned quickly though and soon drew himself on top of her and took her like he was master of her body.

  Guarding the entrance to Emma’s room with his body, Malcolm leaned his head against the cool wood frame of her door and closed his eyes. He’d already decided after the abduction that he would guard her door. He waited until he couldn’t keep them closed anymore and cursed the night when they opened again. How the hell was anyone supposed to get any sleep with all this moaning and groaning haunting the corridors? Why were the damn walls so thin anyway? Were they like this when he was here four years ago? He didn’t remember. The sounds hadn’t tortured him like they did now.

  A long, satisfied cry assaulted his ears from somewhere down the hall. He swore an oath and ground his jaw when the memory of her untried, hungry mouth rushed across his thou
ghts. She fired his blood like no one before her ever could. And yet, here he was allowing a slab of wood to stop him from ravishing her. He’d gone mad.

  But she was different from the others. She wanted more from a man. At first, he thought that man would never be him. Then he thought he didn’t have what it took to be that man. Now—

  Another long, masculine moan, then the tinkle of feminine laughter.

  He’d denied himself in the past. This was harder, almost impossible. He’d never wanted any woman the way he wanted Emma. He drew his palm down his face and calmed the deep thumping of his heart.

  He groaned along with the rest of the voices seeping through the halls. He restrained himself, as frustrating as it was, because he wanted to be a different man for her.

  Even if it killed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There were two things Emma thought about just before dawn broke when she opened the door to her room and Malcolm spilled across her boots for the second day in a row. This time he was awake with a half-eaten apple in his fist.

  First, she probably should have held Gascon back—but he loved Malcolm and was as happy to have him there as she was. Second, he brought joy… and the sea to her, and she loved him for it.

  She listened to him greet her dog, and Gascon’s subsequent crunching on Malcolm’s apple. Her guardian groaned a little and muttered something about his back.

  “Fool!” She laughed, abandoning the shadows. “What have I told you about sleeping at my door?”

  She tossed back her head and squealed with laughter when he closed his hands around her calves and pulled her down. She held her breath when he gathered her in his arms and kicked her door shut.

  “I’m nae longer yer patient.” His throaty whisper fell over her bottom lip as he rolled her to her back, still holding her close.

  “Indeed,” she agreed, running her fingertips over his bicep. “Your strength has returned.”

  He covered her mouth with his, drawing a shuddering breath from her. He consumed her in a lick of fire, his tongue sweeping over the roof of her mouth, then deeper, burning her nerves, boiling her blood until he ignited something somewhere deep within her center. Oh, it was only a day or two ago that she’d pitied anyone who completely lost their heart to another. It was happening to her. It terrified her. What if she surrendered all only to watch him get on his horse and ride out of her life? How would she get over him? He had her heart. She wanted his in return. It was the only way he wouldn’t abandon her. He consumed her in a raging fire that heated the crux between her legs. He wouldn’t be celibate with her. She knew it, sensed it in his quickened breath, his deepening kisses. He’d take her here on her bedroom floor. She was sure of it when she felt him stiff within the confines of his breeches. Dare she release him? He wanted more. And so did she.

  But she’d have his heart with it or not at all.

  She stopped, withdrawing slowly, her breath short and shallow.

  “Fergive me,” he said, sounding terribly repentant while he lifted her off him.

  Forgive him? She almost laughed. For what? For making her feel alive? She wanted to live and die in his arms and then beat him over the head for making her fall so hard.

  She’d stopped kissing him because she was afraid of what she wanted him to do to her.

  “Of course.” She granted his request while he rose from the floor.

  “Goin’ somewhere, lass?” he asked, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. He pulled her close to him but kept his arm at his side.

  “Oui, I’m going for my morning walk.”

  “May I accompany ye?”

  She smiled and he moved to her side, taking the heat with him, and slipped her arm through his.

  “You can sleep in a proper bed, Malcolm,” she told him in the hall. “I lock my door, and my windows, as you requested, lest you forget. And I have Gascon with me. I’m safe. I don’t need you snoring at my door.”

  “We shall see, lass.”

  She rolled her eyes and then thought about kissing him again as he led her down the stairs and out of the brothel.

  Emma stepped outside and smiled at the chilly air blowing in from the north. She took a deep breath and gathered in the scents that carried on the wind—the scent of the man standing next to her. Even without sight, she knew he oozed virility.

  “You must stop kissing me whenever the mood strikes, Mr. Grant.”

  “I canna’ give ye m’ word on it, Miss Grey. I find ye irresistible.”

  She laughed again, softer this time and led him through the woods.

  They stopped, hidden within the trees, when Malcolm gathered her in his arms. “D’ye know that when ye laugh”—he moved closer and bent to speak low in her ear, his voice a hypnotic blend of silk and velvet—“yer nose wrinkles just enough to set m’ heart to racin’?”

  Her color deepened as she reached her fingers up to her nose, as if to feel what he saw. “Are you trying to seduce my heart?” she asked him, tilting her lips closer to his while she spoke.

  “I would like to,” he admitted softly, his smile evident in his light voice.

  “What stops you?”

  He grew more serious. “A promise I made to yer brother, and the one I made to m’self.”

  Ah, yes, he didn’t want to make love without feeling love. Wasn’t that what he’d told her? That didn’t bode well for her. Her stomach tied into a tight knot. Perhaps Cailean was wrong. Perhaps Malcolm wasn’t in love with her.

  She called out to Gascon and somehow she held back tears that threatened to form and spill down her cheeks. Truly, love made one foolish. And a promise to Harry?

  “What did you promise my brother?”

  “To leave ye alone. I owe him much,” he added when she began to protest. Then, “But despite m’ debt to him, despite everything, Emma, ’tis almost impossible to keep m’ word around ye.”

  “Poor dear. Let me help.” She spun on her heel and went back to the brothel. Alone.

  She didn’t stay that way long, however. Inside Harry’s kitchen once again, Mr. Fletcher stood in her path; this time Cailean and Alison were with him.

  “You’re not a man of your word then, Mr. Fletcher?” she coaxed.

  “Ah, Miss Grey,” he said with a bow. “I’m at your mercy not to inform your brother of my transgression.”

  “That depends on what the three of you are doing today. She listened for the sound of Malcolm marching back, alone and angry. He was about to get a lot angrier.

  “We’re headin’ oot to catch some fish fer breakfast,” Cailean told her. “Where’s m’ brother?”

  “He’s just outside. Please, let me come with you,” she pleaded. “There are herbs and fragrances along the bank for…” Damn, she forgot Mr. Fletcher was there with them. Before he thought her a witch for knowing medicine, she backtracked carefully. “… things like lavender and daffodil that would blend perfectly with my stuffed bass.”

  There was no lavender at the riverbank, but none of her companions would know it.

  They agreed to let her go, and on the way out the group laughed at something Mr. Fletcher said.

  Emma didn’t know that Malcolm was watching her traipse off to the riverbank. But she hoped he was.

  Emma was grateful for Mr. Fletcher’s company over the next two days. He followed her about most of the time, doing or saying things to make her smile, much to Malcolm’s frustration, since she didn’t smile with him. Mr. Flet… Sebastian didn’t mind her using him to make Malcolm jealous. He even agreed that she was doing the right thing.

  “If there’s something real here for Malcolm, he should be put to the test. If his heart is true, it won’t fail him.”

  She agreed. If Malcolm truly cared for her, he needed to fight whatever stopped him, and win her. Time was running out until he left.

  “But,” Sebastian went on, “what makes you think you’ve won what other women could not?”

  “Cailean thinks so, but,” she confessed with
a smile, “for me ’tis wishful thinking, I admit.”

  She wasn’t sure why she shared so much with a man she’d only known for a few days. Sebastian was easy to talk to. She showed him what Cailean meant when he told him she saw with her ears. He didn’t seem to mind her chattering at all, and he even told her about his nights with Bess and what he’d learned. Malcolm, for instance, had spent his night alone, refusing Bess’s company, and every other girl’s.

  “She has no softness for you,” he said of Bess.

  Emma sighed. What could she do about it? “She doesn’t matter right now.”

  “He does. I know, Emma.”

  Cailean got in on it too, claiming that if anything could make a man see the light, it was jealousy.

  She didn’t know about seeing the light, but if it meant tempting Malcolm to punch Sebastian through a wall a time or two, then it was working. He hadn’t done it yet. But it was coming. Emma didn’t want Sebastian to be hit. Something, somewhere, would get broken. It was childish anyway, wasn’t it? To make a man jealous?

  Sebastian swore he could take a hit, especially for her, and insisted on continuing.

  Though only a few days had passed she’d grown fond of Sebastian. She thought at first that he wanted to win her, but he’d discovered soon enough that her heart was lost to someone else. He didn’t try to go near her room, not that he could have with Malcolm sleeping in front of her door. He just wanted to be her friend. And right now she needed the help of one.

  “He was very fidgety at the table this morning,” Sebastian informed her on their second afternoon together. He walked her to a nearby tree and waited while she sat beneath it. “He did speak to me though.”

  “Oh?” she asked, surprised. “What did he say?”

  He sat beside her in the grass. “He said he spoke to you yesterday and you asked him not to harm me. It was the only reason I still had any teeth.”

  Emma covered her mouth to hide her shock, but Sebastian saw it and laughed.

  After a moment, he leaned in to her. “He’s coming over.”