“Stop that!” she spat at him. “You know that I am not ‘milady,’ and you mock me with it again and again!”
“Ah, but in truth, I do not mock you. I find you to be a lady indeed, fascinating, beautiful, beguiling. I am bewitched.”
Her eyes widened. She never knew when he taunted …
When he was serious.
When he merely intended to seduce.
“You came into my room at night!” she accused him.
“From the very first night,” he admitted frankly. “I came to see that you were safe and well each night.”
Her eyes narrowed. A shimmering sensation swept throughout her, just from the heated caress of his gaze. She wondered how he could affect her so without the slightest touch, and yet, inside, she knew.
She knew where such a bold glance could lead. She knew the feel of his eyes raking down her nakedness, and that it was a soft reminder of the sensual sweep of his hands, the caress of his searing kiss.
Her breath was coming too quickly. To her dismay she felt her breasts swell, her nipples tighten to hard peaks, and her pulse begin to beat wildly against her throat. She forced her voice to hardness. “I am fine. You need not be here now.”
But he had seen that pulse against her throat, and he leaned toward her, pushing back her dampened hair and placing his lips against the frantic blue vein where the pulse beat. She caught her breath, leaning back, feeling his lips slide over the steam-dampened length of her throat. She fought the desire that seemed to burst forth like the bloom of a rose within her. “I told you!” she whispered desperately. “I will not sleep with you—”
His lips covered hers. His mouth was open and his tongue probed her mouth with an unceasing demand, finding every sweet crevice, invading, demanding, seducing …
No! She would not be so easily led astray, even if she had already traveled the forbidden path. She twisted from his touch, and still she could not breathe, but she fought hard to do so. “Out, Laird Creeghan!” she demanded imperiously. “You’ve no right here. And if you think to come furtively through a secret door ever again—”
She broke off threateningly. But the threat did not disturb him. He arched one of his autocrat’s brows. “Do tell, milady.”
“Take care, milord,” she warned, eyes narrowing, voice a warning purr. “I shall slap that arrogant face in two seconds.”
“You may try.”
“And I may succeed.” She modestly crossed her arms more tightly about her breasts, drawing in her knees.
“And what do you hide from me, lass?”
“Out, Laird Creeghan! You are a dragon, I do believe.”
He shook his head and the amusement faded away, and he seemed tense when he said softly, “I warned you, milady, that if you stayed, then I would have you.”
Martise flushed, startled by the new passion in his voice that held no taunt, and no hint of laughter.
“Well, milady, it has come to pass, and I’ll not forget that it has, nor shall I allow you to forget.”
“I told you—”
“You’ve nothing left to hide from me, lass. And I warned you, too, that I would haunt you, day and night.”
He stood suddenly and sauntered to the armoire. “I’ll never force you,” he promised softly, and his gaze burned her flesh far more thoroughly than the heat of the water. “But I will have you again, and willing, I vow it. Nor shall I cease to haunt you, as I have promised.”
“But—”
“Are you still determined to stay?” he demanded.
“Yes, yes!” she cried, and her fingers wound tightly around the rim of the tub.
Bryan Creeghan clenched his jaw tightly. His fists knotted at his back as he watched her. Did the lass not know that she drove him to distraction? Her hair curled and waved about her forehead in damp splendor, as if she were some sea goddess. And now that she had moved her hands, the water just crested the fullness of her breasts, framing the coral aureolas, teasing the taut peaks. Tightness constricted his groin and his limbs, and he wanted nothing more than to deny his words, and wrench her damp and dripping from the tub and into his arms. He could bring her willing, into his arms, giving and eager and pouring the sweetness of herself upon him, by God he could!
He clamped down with a greater vengeance on his jaw, and locked it in a twist. Nay, he could not! Not now …
For if she was determined to stay, then it must be at his side, in accord with his every whim. And she had to understand that.
“Then I’ve come to talk!” he told her harshly.
She sank back into the water, wariness creeping into her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Someone in this castle is guilty,” he reminded her. “And if you’re going to be here, you must help me discover who. Trust no one. Be ever wary. And remember, above all else, whatever I say, and whatever I do, you must agree with me.”
“All right,” she said after a moment.
“Whatever I say, whatever I do,” he repeated in a stern command. “Swear it.”
“All right!” she repeated. Then added through her teeth, “I swear it!”
He bowed to her, and she watched as he walked to the armoire and slipped his hand in back to slide a panel at its rear.
Martise choked when she saw how swiftly and silently the wall, with the armoire, slid open two feet. Then Bryan disappeared, and the panel closed, and she was left to glower at it in a newly rising fury.
“Whatever you say, indeed!” she muttered. “Beast!” But he was gone, and so it was easy to defy him.
She finished scrubbing herself with a fury, and still the memories remained. Impatient, she rose from the tub and toweled dry with a vengeance.
Despite her simmering anger, when she dressed and came downstairs for the midday meal, Martise meant to keep her vow.
They were all assembled at the table. Elaina, Ian, Conar, Uncle Peter, and Bruce—no, Bryan!—Creeghan. And even as she looked at them, she could not believe that any of them could be guilty. Not Ian with his laughing ways, nor Peter with his kindness, nor Conar with his sense of responsibility. And certainly not gentle Elaina …
The talk was of the games, and she found she could still laugh when Ian remarked that he really needed to invent a new game so that he needn’t feel obliged to toss a caber. Bryan was silent, sipping his wine, watching the others.
And then suddenly, he spoke, voice a soft and casual burr, gold-green gaze moving slowly around the table.
“By the by, there’s something I feel I must share with you all immediately,” he said.
He rose, and Martise watched him as he came around to stand behind her chair. His hands rested on her shoulders while his thumbs moved with startling intimacy and affection along her throat. And then, to her amazement, he bent low to place a gentle and tender kiss upon her cheek.
“Lady St. James has consented to become Lady Creeghan.”
11
There was silence, absolute, dead silence at the table. It seemed to stretch forever and ever and ever, and Martise thought vaguely that they were all in shock.
Except that no one could be in a greater state of shock over the announcement than she was herself.
It was Uncle Peter who spoke first. He rose to the occasion gallantly, lifting his mug of ale high and smiling down upon them both benignly.
“Congratulations, nephew. You’ve captured another great beauty to grace these halls. Martise, milady, I warmly wish you well, and welcome you to our family.”
The words seemed to break the frost that had fallen over all of them. Elaina leapt up and kissed her brother and hugged Martise. There were tears in her eyes. “I am so delighted! Oh, Martise, we shall be sisters now. It is wonderful!”
Martise rose, hugging her back. Bryan stood just behind them, and she tried to glare at him with all the fury that she could muster. What right had he to say such a thing? She should deny it this very second. What he had done was cruel, horribly, horribly cruel.
But when
her eyes met his, she knew that she could not deny him. She had sworn she would go along with him, no matter what he said or did. No matter how it hurt Elaina … or herself. And the glitter in his eyes, the searing warning within them, told her that she must keep her vow. Or else …
Or else he would see that she left the house, and it seemed more important to her now than ever that she discover the truth buried within the walls of the castle.
“I, too, am delighted!” Ian told her, pulling her from Elaina’s enthusiastic hug. He kissed her soundly on the cheek and grinned at his cousin. “I do say, Bruce, you have managed again to do the castle proud.” He shook his head mournfully. “And I thought that I had a chance this time! Ah, well, as long as the great Creeghan beast brings the beauty into our lives … welcome!” Then he hugged her, too. And then Conar was hugging her and congratulating her, and Elaina wanted to know when they were going to celebrate the nuptials. Her brother gave her a rather vague answer, but promised that it would be soon, very soon.
“The period of mourning for Mary is over,” he said softly, looking at his family from one to another. “I see no reason that Martise and I should wait very long. However, I’ve business to attend to at the moment, so if you’ll all excuse me …” He smiled, the rogue’s smile that was not without its lulling charm. He paused behind Martise once again, and his lips brushed the back of her neck. She felt a soft whisper of flame there, against her flesh. “I’ll see you soon, my love,” he murmured. Casting his gaze over the others once again, he was gone, heading hurriedly toward the stairs.
Once again, the silence fell.
“Damn!” Ian exploded after a moment. Then he smiled at Martise and laughed. “Well, the laird has been known to possess his devil’s ways, but I hadn’t realized at all how close—I mean, I just hadn’t seen—I didn’t—”
“Ian, you’re babbling, lad,” his father told him, and asked that Martise pass him the bread basket. He grinned at her and added, “Ye’ve na said a word yerself, lass. Be happy. Don’t let the tales of evil Creeghans and dark and mysterious deeds within these old stone walls steal a single whit of your happiness.”
Ian laughed. “That’s right! Don’t let a one of those stories disturb you—even if they are true!”
She smiled. It was a tremendous effort. She stood up, anxious to escape them all, especially Elaina, who was so happy with the news. She was dying to get her hands on Bryan Creeghan.
“Surely, there were evil Creeghans in plenty!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she winked at Peter. “But then, at least, they’re interesting men. If nothing else, I shall not be bored.”
“Ah, here, here!” Ian toasted her, eyes dancing. “Perhaps the castle itself has met its match at last!”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, and pushed her chair in, trying to maintain the forced smile for them all. “Thank you, thank you all for being so very kind and warm,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, too …”
She didn’t have an excuse, and so she simply fled up the stairs. She wanted to see Bryan immediately, while the blood was boiling within her.
She tore past her own room and down along the corridor to the master’s tower. When she reached his door, she flung it open, ready, anxious, to wage war.
Even as she stood in the doorway, he appeared, walking in from the dressing room, slipping his scarf over his shoulders. He stared at her and must have seen the blue fire sizzling in her eyes. “What now?” he cried, and made a tsk with his tongue. “Martise, you are ever welcome in this room and in this bed and your very eagerness just flatters me to the teeth, but really, I do have an appointment. Oh, never mind, the hell with the appointment. If you’re willing to fall in my arms once again …”
She felt as if she were strangling. She wanted to shout, but was dismayed to discover that all she could manage was a choking sound. And that sound escaped her as she tore across the room in a sizzling dark fury and threw herself against him, trying to pummel and claw him, and not managing to do either. The force of her weight and her flight across the room did catch him off balance. He caught her, though, and they twirled around, and crashed down hard together upon his dragon bed.
He called her name, but the wildness of her rage was still with her and she twisted and fought beneath him until he was forced to catch her hands. He tossed a hard-muscled thigh over her hips and shook her, and she finally went still, staring at him furiously. For the rogue who had started all the trouble, he seemed to be annoyingly amused. His eyes were flecked with golden flames that danced while the fullness of his mouth was curved into a well-humored and sensual smile.
“How could you!” she managed to say at last.
“How could I?” he repeated blankly. “Easily. You’re a wildcat, I’ll admit, but I am by far the stronger. And actually, I didn’t—you did.”
“I what!”
“Well, you came catapulting at me. I did my best to defend myself. Even though I was stricken to realize that you came to beat me to an early demise rather than bed with me.”
She twisted, determined to catch the flesh of his hand, so tight upon her own, between her teeth and then bite until he wiped the smile from his face and screamed for mercy. But he was too quick, laughing as he spread their hands far from the neighborhood of her teeth. “My dear lady, what behavior for such a fair, innocent damsel.”
“You’ve already commented, my lord, that I am no lady!” she snapped. “Now leave me be!”
“Leave you be! Martise, you are dangerous!”
“Me! I repeat, how could you! How could you sit there with your family, with people you love, and make such a horrid announcement!”
Shadows flickered across his eyes. A startling tension filled him and she felt it in his hold upon her, from the tightening of his fingers to the heat of his thigh. “I’ve yet to hear that the announcement of a marriage was a ‘horrid’ thing.”
“You know what I mean! You were ungodly cruel to your sister, making her think that we will be wed!”
Suddenly, he released her and stood. He combed his fingers through his ebony hair and walked toward the door. Martise hadn’t realized that it was still open. He closed it softly and then turned around to face her.
“We probably shall be wed.”
“What!” she exclaimed, sitting up and trying to smooth back the dishevelment of her hair. “We cannot be! You cannot be serious!”
“I am deadly serious,” he told her, and catching sight of his eyes, she knew that he was.
“But I cannot marry you!”
“It may be the only way.”
“The only way to what?”
“To let you stay here. Safely.”
“Safely!” she cried, hearing hysteria rising in her voice. She clenched her fingers into fists at her sides and hardened her tone. “Mary—the laird’s last wife—is dead, I remind you. Is that safety?”
His gaze narrowed coolly as he watched her. “I need you near me,” he said flatly.
“You wish to use me as bait!” she accused. Then she leapt up and stared at him across the room. “That I do not mind, but to go so far as marriage—”
“Temporary marriage,” he interrupted coldly.
“Temporary!”
“Martise,” he said impatiently, “I am not without influence. I can arrange a divorce when this is over. But in the meantime, I am deadly serious, and I want the legalities handled as quickly as possible. I am interested in your safety, milady. I want you under my eye at night—and especially beneath the full moon.”
“Well, you’ve gone too far! You’re an insolent bastard but you’ve gone too far this time! I am not one of your simple village girls, and I’ll not follow your orders or play your games or be seduced—” She broke off. She had already been seduced.
Into bed, and into love.
And there was the truth of the matter. She was in love, and he was talking about expediency. Her heart was aflame, and his words were as cold as ice. And even now, while she thought that she wou
ld explode within, his eyes danced once again with amusement. Aye, indeed, she had been seduced.
“Pray, do go on,” he encouraged softly.
“Get out of the way,” she told him.
He arched a brow. “It’s an ultimatum, Martise. You do know that. I warned you before. It’s my way here, or no way at all.”
“I could go out and denounce you for an imposter!” she cried.
He smiled. “But I am an imposter who belongs here, Mistress St. James. You are not.”
“And perhaps I do not care any longer!” she challenged him. “Mary is dead. I cannot bring her back.”
“That’s true. And it has been true since the beginning. And still, you have not left.” He paused, then inquired politely, too politely, “I wonder why?”
She started to stride for the door, heedless of the fact that he blocked it. “Let me by,” she commanded.
To her surprise, he stepped aside and opened the door, his gaze burning into her as he did so.
“Don’t forget that I have given you an ultimatum,” he reminded her.
“Umm, so you say. I believe I should much rather leave than marry you, milord.”
“So you say, lass. Yet how curious. I don’t believe that you will do so.”
“Leave—or marry you?” she asked sweetly, pausing in the doorway.
“Always the little Rebel,” he murmured. “Well, love, the war is on. And I do not suggest that you rebel against me.”
His eyes touched hers, and they saw far more than she was willing for him to see. Something about his gaze was more disturbing than usual, and she wondered why.
Wondered what he knew.
“Good day, Laird Creeghan,” she said, and swept on by him. But as she walked along the corridor, she knew he was still watching her. She felt his eyes. Felt their fire and their power. Felt them seep beneath her skin. Aye, he watched her! She knew it.
Emerald Embrace Page 21