Highland Spitfire

by Mary Wine

  There were windows all around the chamber. The night wind blew in, stirring her hair as she looked back at the bed.

  “No bed curtains,” Bhaic added.

  There were still rails where the fabric would have hung. Bhaic stood and grasped one.

  “The canopy is gone as well.” He released the rail with a disgusted grunt. “The bastard planned this well. His bully boys took me kilt while his staff had ye delivered in that transparent chemise.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “It is nae transparent.”

  He glanced toward her, his lips curving. “It is when ye walk near that candle.”

  She gasped and crawled right over the bed to the opposite side of the room, leaving the single candle behind.

  “Ye can stop playing the innocent,” he said in a tone that sounded as though it was edged with disgust.

  She discovered herself stammering and fought to make her tone even. “I am nae playing at anything.”

  He reached for the bedding, flipping it back to reveal only the single comforter and sheet. “Ye’re the one who decided this was a good idea.”

  Her temper rose, burning away her shyness. “Compared to watching me kin killed, it was.”

  He caught her in a hard look, but at least there was a flicker of agreement in his blue eyes. “It seems we are both victims of our fathers’ stubborn natures.”

  “Aye,” she answered.

  He very slowly slid his gaze down her body, truly looking at her like a woman instead of a Robertson. It stole her breath, sending a bolt of heat through her that she’d never experienced before.

  “So why are ye blushing now, Ailis Robertson?” he asked mockingly. “Did ye nae think on just what marriage involves?”

  She looked away, unable to hold his unsettling stare. Her emotions felt as if they might spill over all the boundaries she had always lived by. There was something about him that made her nervous. And to be sure, she was uncertain how to have a civil conversation with a MacPherson. Yet being rude seemed wrong. So she floundered as she tried to answer him.

  “I was a bit more focused on the musket aimed at me father’s heart,” she said in a rush.

  His eyes narrowed. “Ye’re forgetting I knelt beside ye for the same reason, lass.”

  There was a tone in his voice that shamed her. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Why are ye tormenting me with accusations about not thinking on what marriage involves?” She ended up looking at the bed again, a sense of defeat pressing against her heart. “I certainly had no thought I’d be wed today.”

  “We have that in common.” Their gazes met once more in a moment of unexpected agreement. He made a low sound of frustration, but his features lost their stern edge. For a moment he contemplated her, looking as uncertain as she felt. “How old are ye, Ailis?”

  She wasn’t sure she liked hearing her name on his lips. It was oddly intimate. Yet they stood facing each other in their underclothes, so fitting as well.

  “Twenty-two,” she answered.

  “Old enough to be thinking of marriage,” he said.

  “But with ye?” she asked before realizing she was insulting him. It really wasn’t wise, since the man was locked inside the chamber with her. It was just second nature; he was a MacPherson.

  “Me own delight is near impossible to contain.”

  His tone left no doubt that he was displeased with her. She lifted her chin, but it was only a show of bravado. She felt the distinct sting of her feelings being injured.

  He was just a MacPherson. But it still hurt to realize she was hated for nothing more than the fact that she was a Robertson.

  He muttered something low and moved around the bed, closing the distance between them. Her belly twisted in alarm. She scrambled over the bed again before even thinking about why he alarmed her so much. But the candle flame illuminated her the moment she stood up, so she backed away from it. That left her facing him without the bed between them.

  “I will nae rape ye.”

  There was something new in his tone, something that calmed her. It was disgust, but not the sort he’d aimed at her before. This was injured pride. Even if he was a MacPherson, he still had a Highlander’s honor.

  But that admission left her nothing but gratitude. And duty. Men were not the only ones who had to shoulder their share of life’s burdens. She looked back at the bed, her mouth once again dry. “Ye…ye…do nae have…to.” She forced the words through her resisting lips. “I keep me promises.”

  “As do I,” he confirmed in an unrelenting tone.

  The urge to cry filled her. She shook it off and ordered herself to go toward the bed. At least it was dark and he wouldn’t see the tears shimmering in her eyes. Small comfort, but better than none.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, finding it impossible to lift her feet.

  He moved closer, sending her heart racing. She was so keenly aware of him. Her skin felt alive and eager for contact with his. Beneath the smooth fabric of her chemise, her nipples slowly drew into hard points.

  Ailis raised her chin, needing to understand why he affected her so intensely. She found him watching her, his blue eyes full of something she could not understand, but it sent a bolt of heat through her. He was only a pace from her, and studied her for a long moment before he reached out and stroked her cheek.

  The contact was shocking. She jumped, scooting back to the center of the bed.

  He chuckled. “Noble sacrifices are nae to me taste either, Ailis.”

  He placed one knee on the bed, looking as if he was testing her nerve.

  “I do nae know what to do.” And she didn’t care to admit it to him either. “It is nae a shame that I am nervous. Ye are the first man I have been alone with…in a bedchamber.”

  “Aye, ye’re skittish.” His expression softened for a moment; warmth that looked like compassion flickered in his eyes. But a gust of wind blew in and flattened his shirt against his lower body. For a moment, the fabric molded over his member. She stared at it and felt her cheeks burn.

  “Yet still bold.” He laughed, throwing his head back and shaking with amusement.

  It grated on her nerves, wounding her pride and pushing her into action. She grabbed one of the pillows and rose on her knees to swing it at his head. It made a soft “woof,” turning his head and silencing him.

  “Stop mocking me, ye brute.”

  He retaliated with a lightning-quick motion of his arm, sending the pillow flying across the chamber. She gasped, but he was already reaching for her and had her hauled up against his body before she finished drawing in her breath.

  He clamped her against him, his embrace as strong as steel.

  “Perhaps I am enjoying ye, Ailis.” He ran one of his hands down her back and cupped one side of her bottom, pulling her against his lower body. His cock pressed into her soft belly, sending a twisting sensation through her insides that left her breathless.

  “Even if ye are a Robertson, I’d be a fool if I did nae admire the fact that ye are innocent. Nae every lass has the restraint to keep herself pure.”

  “Nae every man either,” she accused as she pressed against his chest. All she accomplished was a new understanding of how his chest felt. There were ridges of muscle beneath the fabric of the shirt, and she enjoyed the feel of them.

  “Certainly nae ye,” she continued, lashing out. She knew it but couldn’t seem to temper her anger. It was flaring up inside her, overriding everything else. She suddenly realized that she wasn’t angry. She was frightened. Of herself. She liked his embrace, his scent, and the way he touched her.

  Sweet Christ. How could I?

  “A man weds later than a woman.” He threaded his fingers through her hair to cup her nape. “His nature still demands the comfort only a woman’s body can provide.”


  The flicker of heat in his eyes fascinated her. Along with a knowing glint that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking. The hard outline of his cock was turning her insides to molten liquid. She felt empty, her hips twitching toward his out of pure instinct.

  “It seems ye are quick enough at learning the art of seduction,” he said, his hand smoothing down her back to cup her bottom for a long moment. She felt suspended in that moment, so aware of him she ached.

  Bhaic suddenly released her as though he was fighting against opening his arms.

  Ailis fell back, tumbling into the center of the bed in a jumble of limbs. She rolled over and felt the brush of the night air on her thighs. With a kick, she turned over again and pushed her chemise down to cover her legs.

  “I do nae care how sweet ye smell. If I bed ye, I must keep ye,” he said through his teeth, looking every bit as ferocious as she’d been raised to believe he was.

  “Brute,” she accused softly. “Ye should keep yer hands from me, since ye do nae care for me as yer wife.”

  He shrugged but reached down to pull something out of his boot. “Perhaps I am, but ye will nae snare me into consummating this marriage. The earl may claim he’ll return, but I doubt he’ll march an army into the Highlands when he hears we’ve annulled our union. We need only wait a season.”

  The candlelight flickered off a thin blade. He lifted his leg and placed his foot in the center of the bed. A quick motion of his hand, and bright red blood dropped onto the creamy surface of the sheet. The fabric soaked it up, making each drop wider as the fibers absorbed the fluid. When there was a good-sized splotch, he pulled his leg back and replaced the dagger.

  The scent of fresh blood mixed with the beeswax of the candle. The wind blew in, but she didn’t shiver with cold. Instead, she shook with relief. It swept through her, leaving her nothing but a quivering mass. She sat down, unable to hold herself up any longer.

  “Thank ye.” The words left her mouth before she realized she was going to speak. It was another one of those uncontrolled responses he seemed to be able to solicit from her. It was frustrating, but she was too relieved to worry about the means of her deliverance.

  Only that she had been rescued. He was a most unexpected champion, but welcome nonetheless.

  She looked up and found him watching her, curiosity and a question in his eyes. So she looked away and slid her feet beneath the comforter. The goose down was wonderfully heavy and warm. She shivered and reached for the edge of it to pull it up.

  He made a small sound under his breath that drew her attention. He was frustrated, his face set into hard lines as he contemplated her. Understanding hit her.

  “We’re both relieved to know each of us craves an annulment, and yet shamed by the fact that we continue our fathers’ discontentment,” she offered softly, unable to think of a remedy for the situation. She certainly wasn’t going to suggest consummating their union.

  “Aye, shamed is the proper word,” Bhaic agreed, “for the earl is correct. Marriages have been the traditional method of ending such feuds. I should be more open to the idea.”

  He stared at her for another long moment, clearly trying to decide if he should change his mind. Ailis found herself holding her breath as he pondered her.

  He sent the comforter up and over her. The edge of the bed sagged as he sat down and finished unlacing his boots. She heard him set them aside before he picked up the candle and set it near the door, leaving the bed in semidarkness. The bed ropes groaned as he lay back and settled himself beneath the comforter.

  “Me brother…” she said, “is no’ an unreasonable man.”

  There was a grunt from Bhaic.

  “Ye both can choose what future there might be,” she continued.

  The bed moved. Bhaic had rolled onto his side and propped his head into his hand as he watched her. “As I noticed before, ye are more woman than lass, Ailis. For all that I should praise ye for it, it would be best if I did nae take notice of it.” He settled back down beside her. “At least no’ while ye are wearing so little, and I have the church’s blessing to enjoy it.”

  A bubble of amusement escaped from her. She just couldn’t help it.

  “And now ye’re pleased with the fact that ye tax me,” he groused.

  “I admit I’d never have thought such a thing before this moment,” she answered. “Ye are Bhaic MacPherson, after all.”

  “And ye, Ailis Robertson are in bed…with me,” he said good-naturedly. “A brow-raising situation if ever there was one. Any man that might have suggested such a possibility would have earned himself the title of liar from me.”

  “Aye.” He was warming the sheets up nicely. “Perhaps that is what to take away from this event. A willingness to welcome change.”

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  They didn’t touch, but their body heat mingled. The scent of his skin teased her senses, in spite of the wind blowing through the chamber.

  She’d never expected a man to smell enticing.

  Yet she could not deny it or ignore it. She was still awake when the moon climbed high enough for her to see it through the window. Her body was still pulsing with strange yearnings that excited her more than she cared to notice. Yet she’d be lying if she didn’t admit she had a new knowledge of her own nature. One she liked. One that gave her hope for her future, as well as a solid confidence in what had just that morning been her worst enemy. All in all, the earl had managed to begin bringing about the change he wanted.

  Even if their marriage was going to be annulled.

  There was still hope for a bright future.

  * * *

  “Sweet.”

  Ailis shifted, enjoying the soft word spoken so close to her ear. She wiggled closer, drawn by the warmth. The darkest part of the night brought howling winds that chilled her nose.

  So she had buried it against a warm body.

  A little sigh of contentment left her lips, and she heard an answering grunt before she was pulled closer.

  Still locked in sleep, she didn’t bother to consider what she was doing. There was only impulse and reaction. She was being drawn toward that warmth. Seeking it out to satisfy some yearning inside her. It felt bone deep.

  “So sweet…”

  This time, the words brushed her neck, followed by warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin. She twisted, her body alive with pleasure. She reached for him, sliding her hands along his chest and delighting at the feeling of his crisp hair between her fingers.

  He shifted, pressing her onto her back. She rolled easily, happy to take his weight. It felt so good, so very right as he pressed a kiss against her lips. His mouth was softer than expected, his lips smooth and silken.

  He tasted good.

  The knowledge burst inside her head, bringing her closer to consciousness.

  Men didn’t taste good. But Bhaic did.

  Bhaic MacPherson.

  She pulled away from the kiss, but he cupped her face and pressed his mouth over hers again. This time his kiss was demanding and harder. She struggled to recall why she had to resist. It wasn’t because it was distasteful. Pleasure was flowing down her body from the sweet contact. She wanted to kiss him back and lost the battle to think at all for several long moments. Beautiful moments of their lips slipping across each other’s, sparking a hundred different sensations that both shocked and surprised her.

  But it was Bhaic MacPherson.

  Her husband.

  It was the word “husband” that broke the last of sleep’s hold over her. She tried to back away from him, her knee connecting with his member.

  He snarled, bolting up as he woke completely.

  “Ye…must…not.” She meant to sound stern but managed only a soft plea. Her tone was breathless.

  He recoiled, taking
the comforter with him. It was pitch-black in the room, the moon on its way to the horizon. She strained to see him, but in the darkness, the only hint of his presence came from the sound of his breathing.

  The wind howled, and she shivered, her teeth chattering. It was the slap she needed to return to reality.

  “Ye’re a dangerous creature, Ailis.”

  The bed ropes creaked as he sent the comforter back over them both.

  “Ye kissed me,” she retorted as she dug her fingers into the bedding to hold it against herself.

  “Because ye pressed up against me. I warned ye. I am a man who enjoys the comfort of a woman’s body.”

  “Even when it is a Robertson? I heard ye enjoy Grants.” It was her wounded pride talking. There was no other possible reason for her to crave his response to such a question.

  “So that’s the game, is it?”

  He rolled onto his side and propped his head with his hand. She could feel him watching her. She should have kept her mouth shut.

  He suddenly chuckled. “Brenda Grant was me mistress, and she enjoyed the position well. Her husband was a selfish bastard, and once she was widowed, she was woman enough to want to know if there was pleasure in bed sport. I assure ye, I did nae disappoint her.”

  His tone was wicked but at the same time enticing. The darkness only added to the temptation brewing inside her to needle him until he lost control again. Perhaps she’d not be disappointed either.

  The desire shocked her. She shouldn’t want anything at all from him.

  “Is that why the earl thought I’d fall for this plan?” he asked softly. “Did the man think all he had to do was get ye into me bed and I’d lose all control?”

  She scooted away from him, shivering as she touched the icy-cold sheets. “I did nae know of the earl’s plans. I’d be a poor daughter if I let my sire be hanged when there was something I might do to prevent it.”

  “Unless yer father was never in any danger.”

  His tone was thick with accusation. She sat up. “I would nae have wed ye for any other reason.”

  Her tone was equally as distrusting. The peace she’d fallen asleep dreaming of was nothing but a forgotten fantasy.