Highland Belle

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Highland Belle Page 10

by Patricia H. Grasso


  “But—"

  “It's a command, lovey.” He grinned wickedly.

  “As you wish, my lord."

  Brigette scurried into bed. Hugging the farthest edge, she turned her back on her husband. Iain slid in and snuggled close, pressing himself against the silkiness of her back. When he slipped his hand across her body and cupped one of her breasts, Brigette tensed.

  “It's my wish we sleep thusly,” he whispered.

  Moments later, Brigette knew by the sound of his even breathing that he slept. Iain's tantalizing nakedness and possessively cupping hand conspired to make Brigette yearn for what she would not be enjoying that night. It was a long, long time before she was able to sleep.

  When Brigette awakened, her limbs were entwined with Iain's. One arm was thrown across his stomach, and one leg was tangled between his muscular thighs. Her face was pressed against the thick mat of black hair covering his chest. Opening his eyes, Brigette found herself staring into her husband's smiling face.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised.

  “It's my bed,” he returned. “Where else should I be?"

  “You've been rising early of late."

  “That task is completed.” Iain grinned. “I've several days of leisure. It's good news, is it no'?"

  “Yes.” She almost choked on the words. “It's wonderful news."

  Later that morning, Iain happened to meet Brigette in the courtyard and told her to stop for a moment.

  “Yes, my lord?"

  “Would ye care to ride wi’ me?” he asked.

  “No, thank you."

  “It's a command, hinny, no’ an invitation.” When her mouth dropped open in dismay, he added, “And ye'll ride in front of me on my horse."

  Iain lifted Brigette onto the saddle, then mounted behind and pressed the hardness of his body against her. By the time they returned, Brigette was certain she was going mad, tormented by her husband's gentle assault on her senses. Her body was turning traitor!

  Two days before Christmas, winter's first blizzard was upon them. Forgoing the garden, Brigette and Glenda sat in front of the hearth in the great hall.

  Shaking the snow off their plaids, several MacArthur warriors, including Iain and Percy, trudged into the hall. Seeing the two downcast angels in front of the hearth, Iain advanced on them. “It's an excellent day for playin’ Blindman's Buff,” he said. “Would ye care to play?” Glenda nodded eagerly, but Brigette shook her head.

  “It's a command, sweetie.” Iain smiled pleasantly at his wife's grimace. “I'll be the Blindman."

  When Percy had blinded him with a scarf, Iain whirled this way and that, trying to catch his wife. Giggling in spite of herself, Brigette jumped back out of reach, but someone pushed her into Iain's outstretched arms. Squirming, she tried to break free, but was ensnared by her husband's steely grip.

  “Aha!” Iain chuckled. “Whoever can this be?"

  One of his hands slid across Brigette's silken cheek and drifted down the column of her neck to her shoulders. “Now let me see,” Iain thought aloud. His hand passed over the curve of a shapely hip, then tweaked a plump breast. “I'd know these titties anywhere—it's my wife!"

  Mortified and scarlet to the tips of her toes, Brigette slapped his hand away and fled the hall. Howls of raucous laughter chased her all the way upstairs.

  On Christmas Eve, Brigette decided that she was singularly unhappy. Even Glenda, anticipating the holiday, was less dejected by Sly's abrupt departure from Dunridge.

  “How can ye allow yer men to dice on Christmas Eve?” Antonia complained to Black Jack when the family had gathered for supper. “It's blasphemy."

  “All should be happy at Christmas,” the earl replied. “If dicin’ brings them joy, then so be it."

  Antonia cast him an exasperated look, then turned to Brigette. “Where's Iain?"

  “He's fetchin’ Brie's present,” Percy answered, “so she doesna’ waste a moment of the holiday feelin’ puirly."

  Iain walked into the hall at the moment. Cradled in his arms was Sly, bedecked in a bright yellow ribbon that matched his collar.

  Startled mute, Brigette's mouth dropped open. Iain grinned and placed the fox on her lap. “Merry Christmas, hinny,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. A lump of emotion formed in Brigette's throat as she looked from her pet to her husband.

  “This is a night to go down in history,” Iain quipped. “For once my wife is speechless."

  Brigette buried her face into Sly's neck and wept. The men exchanged smiles, and Glenda perched beside Brigette to pat the fox. Disgusted, Antonia left the hall.

  “Are ye no’ happy?” Glenda asked.

  “Y-yes,” Brigette sobbed, “t-terribly h-happy.” Black Jack and Percy burst out laughing.

  “Come along wi’ me,” Iain said and held out his hand. “I want to speak privately wi’ ye.” He escorted Brigette to Black Jack's study and closed the door.

  “I willna’ admit to this publicly,” he said, “but I was unjust in my judgment and wrong to strike ye in anger. Can ye forgive me?"

  “Yes,” Brigette answered, “and I admit I was wrong to defy you—publicly. Can you forgive me?"

  Iain smiled with tenderness, then lowered his head, his mouth claiming Brigette's in a gentle kiss. Their bodies melted together and the kiss deepened.

  “I missed ye,” he whispered, his lips hovering above hers.

  “As I missed you,” she vowed, drawing his lips down to hers again.

  8

  March in the Highlands was cold, much colder than Brigette remembered the south of England being at this time of year. Pink-cheeked, she and Glenda had passed an hour playing a rousing game of keep-the-ball-away-from-Sly. They were traveling the long road inside, a leisurely stroll through the garden before walking to the front courtyard.

  “Buds,” Brigette cried, stopping beside a tree.

  “What?"

  “See.” Brigette pointed to a branch. “This tree is birthing buds. Do you know what that means?” Glenda shook her head. “It means winter is leaving and spring will soon arrive."

  Glenda giggled. “Here she comes now."

  “Brie,” Spring called, rushing toward them. “Company has arrived and you're needed in the hall."

  “Company?” Brigette echoed, surprised. “Who?"

  Spring shrugged. “Someone important. The hall is filled with his men."

  Followed by Sly, Brigette entered the great hall and found it was, indeed, filled with strange men-at-arms. She scanned the chamber and saw Antonia curtsying to an older man who was sitting in front of the hearth with Black Jack, Iain, and Percy.

  Archibald Campbell, the Duke of Argyll, was of an age with his kinsman Black Jack MacArthur. His features were rugged, and his dark brown hair was tinged with gray at his temples, giving him a decidedly distinguished appearance. The duke's sharp gray eyes missed nothing. Turned with displeasure on a person, those eyes could pierce and wound more painfully than any gleaming sword.

  “My lord,” Black Jack introduced, “this is Lady Brigette, Iain's bride. Brie, make yer curtsy to the Duke of Argyll, our Campbell clan chief."

  “My lord.” Brigette smiled and curtsyed.

  “Iain, lad,” the duke said, returning Brigette's welcoming smile, “ye've got yerself a bonnie lass.” His eyes drifted to Sly, sitting beside his mistress. “Am I seein’ what I think I'm seein'?"

  “If ye think yer seein’ a fox,” Iain said drily, “then yer seein’ what ye think yer seein'. This furry fellow is Sly."

  “What in God's holy name,” the duke asked, turning to Black Jack, “is a fox doin’ in yer home?"

  “He lives here,” Percy answered, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

  “Lives here!” Campbell exclaimed in amazed disbelief. “Are ye in yer dotage, Black Jack, to allow such a thin'?"

  “With all due respect,” Brigette spoke up, ignoring her husband's warning look, “Sly is my pet."

  "Yer pet!?"


  “This is not your home,” she snapped, her green eyes flashing with anger, “and I am not your wife. The way we live at Dunridge is no business of yours!"

  "Brie!" Black Jack and Iain shouted, appalled.

  “It's all right,” the duke assured them with a casual wave of his hand. “Dinna scold the wench for her rudeness. What she says is undoubtedly true.” He leaned toward Black Jack, saying, “I should've known her temper would match her fiery hair. If ye recall, my late wife was a redhead.” Campbell glanced at Iain and smiled sympathetically. “I've much experience dealin’ wi’ red-haired wenches, laddie, if ever yer in need of counsel."

  “I am a lady, my lord, not a wench.” Brigette smiled winsomely. “I am also an earl's daughter and have been taught proper respect."

  “Taught ye respect, did they?” the duke mocked, his eyes alight with the most enjoyable verbal sparring since his wife had died. “Well, then, what did ye learn?"

  Brigette grinned puckishly. “Obviously, not a damned thing."

  The duke roared with laughter and wished he could be thirty years younger. Gems like Lady Brigette, he thought, were wasted on young men like Iain or his own son, Magnus. Youth was blinded by a comely face and figure. An experienced man could fully appreciate the lady's intelligence and wit and the innocence that allowed her to speak her mind freely.

  “What respect ye get from that one will be hard won and well earned,” he said to Iain as he watched Brigette slip away to tend her duties as hostess. “Good luck to ye.

  “I envy the grandsons ye'll get from her,” the duke said, turning to Black Jack. “My Magnus has been betrothed to Huntly's youngest since the day the chit was born. I'm truly despairin’ because he doesna’ seem in any hurry to wed and sire me an heir."

  “How is cousin Magnus?” Iain asked.

  “And how the hell should I know?” the duke barked. “He's forever off aboot the queen's business. Incognito, I might add."

  “Ye can be proud,” Black Jack said, “ye've instilled in him such loyalty to the queen."

  “I'd appreciate a bit of loyalty to me.” The duke snorted. “Inverary needs an heir and Huntly's chit is ripe. If it's the last thin’ I do, I'll see Magnus wed to her. After she's dropped a few brats, he can disguise himself as the devil and go straight to hell."

  Black Jack chuckled. “I must admit Iain knows his duty in that regard. Ye wouldna’ believe the long hours he spends lyin’ abed wi’ Brie.” Iain's face reddened with embarrassment, and Percy howled with laughter.

  It was the duke's turn to chuckle. “I'd forgotten how it was bein’ wed to a comely wench. We must be gettin’ old. Speakin’ of old, Black Jack, I've sad news concernin’ our kinsman, Breadalbane. Colin sickened recently and passed on. Will ye come along wi’ me to pay our respects?"

  “Yes, and Iain'll also come.” Black Jack turned to his youngest son. “Do ye think, Percy, yer capable of takin’ charge here for a fortnight? I wouldna’ want to return home to nothin'.” Now Percy's face reddened with embarrassment, and Iain howled with laughter.

  * * * *

  “How long will you be gone?” Brigette asked, reaching for Iain as he slipped into bed with her.

  He kissed her lingeringly. “Nae more than a fortnight, sweet."

  “I'll miss you."

  “Especially in bed?"

  “Most especially in bed."

  With that, Brigette pushed him onto his back and slithered on top. Sensuously, she rubbed her softness full-length against his hardened warrior's body. Her rosy lips parted and descended to his as she raised her hips and then slowly, tantalizingly, impaled herself on his shaft.

  A growl of pleasure escaped Iain's throat as she caressed every part of his body with her own. Holding his own desire in check, Iain watched her eyes fly open in surprised abandon when she dissolved into a quivering mass of hot sensation.

  “Yer button was swellin’ against me,” Iain whispered huskily, then rolled her onto her back and rammed himself into the deepest part of her being. Clinging to him, Brigette wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her hips, meeting his every powerful thrust, her body urging him on.

  “Give me a son,” Iain panted.

  “Yes,” Brigette wailed, and they shuddered together.

  * * * *

  Lady Antonia awakened early and dressed hurriedly, then rushed downstairs to the great hall. Iain would be leaving at dawn, and she hoped Brigette would sleep through his departure, giving her a few moments alone with him. She must somehow persuade Iain to set Brigette aside before a child was conceived. Loving Iain as she did, Antonia was determined to rekindle the warm feelings he'd once harbored for her, and to become the next Countess of Dunridge. Nothing was going to stop her, even if she had to dispatch the Sassenach with her own lovely hands.

  Poised in the entrance to the crowded hall, Lady Antonia was a vision of ethereal perfection. Rising early did not detract from her beauty, her drowsiness giving her eyes a sultry cast.

  Iain sat alone at the high table. Antonia smiled and sat down beside him. “Good mornin',” she greeted brightly.

  “Mornin',” he returned without looking at her.

  “Brie isna’ seein’ ye off?"

  “She'll be down.” Iain glanced sidelong at her. “What brings ye here at this hour?"

  “I must speak wi’ ye.” Antonia's eyes beseeched. “It's urgent."

  Iain arched a questioning brow. “I'm listenin'."

  Antonia hesitated, her eyes sweeping the crowded hall. “I must speak privately."

  Iain studied her for a long moment, then rose from his seat. “I'll hear what ye have to say in Black Jack's study."

  Antonia led the way. Aware of her deviousness, Iain left the door ajar and stood just inside. When she turned to face him, Antonia saw Sly scurrying past on his way to the garden and knew Brigette would be close behind.

  “I love ye,” she declared loudly.

  Before Iain could utter a word, Antonia threw herself at him and kissed him passionately. Her arms entwined his neck and held him prisoner. Iain was stiff and unresponsive, but Brigette could not see that from where she stood. A thousand daggers pierced Brigette's heart, and she raced after Sly.

  Iain shoved Antonia away. “Dinna do that again,” he growled.

  “There was a time when ye cared for me."

  “Yes, but I was young and foolish,” Iain returned, his voice filling with contempt, “and ye wanted to be a countess. What I felt for ye once is gone. I love my wife.” With that, he turned on his heels and left the study.

  Antonia's frown vanished, and the slyest of smiles touched her lips. When the Sassenach is gone, she thought, I'll marry Iain and become the Countess of Dunridge. If this fails, I'll write to my brother. Finlay has always given me wise counsel.

  Iain found Brigette in the garden. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, then whispered close to her ear, “I was lookin’ for ye. What's this?” he asked, seeing the tears on her cheeks when she turned around.

  “Nothing."

  “Dinna lie to me."

  “I-I'm feeling lonely."

  “I'll be returnin’ in a fortnight,” he said, then patted her stomach and grinned crookedly. “Perhaps yer wi’ child and its makin’ ye weepy?"

  “No."

  “We must try harder to make Black Jack happy.” Iain lowered his lips and kissed her lingeringly. “I love ye, Brie."

  Brigette smiled sadly at her husband's retreating back, then strolled about the garden, hoping the crisp morning air would clear the cobwebs from her troubled mind. I love him, she thought, but refuse to share his affection with another.

  Iain was kissing Antonia. The thought pounded in her mind, tormenting her. What am I to do? Brigette wondered distractedly and sat down to ponder her future.

  Lady Antonia was pleased with herself when she saw her rival sitting forlornly in the farthest corner of the garden. The Sassenach appears none too happy, she thought with glee. How clever of me to
have seized such an unexpected yet timely opportunity! Convincing Iain to set her aside would have been impossible, but now...

  Antonia strode purposefully toward Brigette, but as she neared her adversary, Sly sensed the woman's enmity and bared his teeth in a snarl. Antonia quickly stepped back a pace. “He willna’ bite me, will he?"

  “No, unfortunately."

  “That isna’ such a nice thin’ to say, Brie,” Antonia chided.

  “Lady Brigette."

  “What?"

  “Please, call me Lady Brigette. Only my friends call me Brie.” She stood, glaring at Antonia.

  “Are we no’ friends?"

  “I loathe the very ground on which you stand,” Brigette hissed.

  Antonia was taken aback by Brigette's venom. Recovering herself, she said, “I'd like to be yer friend—if ye'd give me a chance."

  “You're trying to steal my husband."

  “So!” Antonia arched a brow haughtily. “Iain finally told ye?"

  “Told me what?"

  Antonia appeared nonplussed. “I guess I shouldna’ have said anythin'."

  “I saw you and Iain in the study."

  “Perhaps we havena’ been fair to ye,” Antonia said, tears of sympathy welling up in her eyes.

  “Whatever you've come to say,” Brigette ordered, “speak to the point."

  “To speak openly would be kinder,” Antonia said, controlling the powerful urge to lash out. “Before I wed Malcolm, Iain and I were involved. We'd met in Edinburgh and fell in love, but Black Jack had already contracted wi’ my father for me to wed Malcolm. Dutiful daughter that I am, I obeyed my father's wishes. Livin’ beneath the same roof was difficult for us, but we always conducted ourselves honorably."

  “How exceedingly impressive,” Brigette sneered.

  “After puir Malcolm died,” Antonia continued, ignoring the sarcasm, “Iain, naturally, consoled me in my grief."

  “Naturally."

  “It was then we realized we still cared for each other, but Black Jack had already contracted for Iain to wed ye. Bein’ an honorable mon, Iain wouldna’ shame his father by breakin’ the contract, but he canna set aside his feelin's for me. Ye ken?"

 

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