“Would be a shame had you, yours are far more engaging.” As much as Tavish told himself this was not the place to start enticing her, he could not stop the words from tumbling out. “They remind me of the loch in the wood. Crystal clear and sparkling blue. One dip into their cool, liquid depths could never be enough to sate a man.”
“You know well I care not for your pretty words, my laird,” she said, but the breathy quality of her voice assured the opposite. The gentle lilt reminded him of that moment when she rummaged her fingers through his hair and whimpered her pleasure. He felt nearly as heated now, remembering the look of rapture on her beautiful face, as he had then.
It was more than enough to encourage him to continue. “I can only guess at the splendor of her bosom beneath all those layers, but yours I can well picture. High, firm, ripe breasts made for spilling into a man’s hands.”My hands.
“I beseech you not to speak so, sir. ‘Tis quite disconcerting.”
And quite arousing, judging by the undeniable husk that peppered her words and the erratic rise and fall of her chest beneath her coat. His shaft throbbed painfully beneath his breeches, aching for release. How would she react if he took down his pants and saw to his pleasure here and now, before her eyes? The urge to take his cock into his hand and stroke its inflamed length until hot come flowed freely was almost too exhilarating for Tavish to ignore.
Only the notion he would scare her off before he had time to convince her of her body’s desire stopped him from doing just that. He couldn’t refrain from lifting his thumb to her mouth. Her breath hitched when he traced her full lower lip. All but oblivious to the sound, he continued his exploration, mesmerized by the lushness of her mouth, the memory of how sinfully sweet she tasted.
He ached to imbibe of her flavor again, to kiss her with the slow, heady thoroughness he so rarely took the time to enjoy. Though her gaze remained focused on the portrait, her eyes had darkened and her breathing grew increasingly fast. He grinned at the knowledge she fought the same desire. Yes, the next time she called his name, it would be for all the right reasons.
“Your aunt’s mouth is closed,” he continued in a tone thick with lust, “but yours I prefer open.” He stroked his thumb upward, against the arch of Kristiana’s cheekbone. Then, slowly, he caressed his thumb down her neck to the fair skin that showed at the opening of her coat. Her pulse flitted beneath his touch. “I’ve been told you’re willful, but I find I like that quality. Especially when it’s your willful tongue that’s pressed up against mine. And then there’s your fine, plump backside. Never have I felt an ass so—”
Her loud gasp brought him up short. “Have I said how very much in love my uncle and aunt were?” she asked quickly. “This setting was done for their betrothal.”
Aware he still held her rapt, Tavish thought to start where he’d left off, but then he turned to look once more upon the painting she seemed so taken by and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a gasp. He dropped his hand to his side and swiveled to stare at the couple. His deduction was confirmed by both their attire and portrait’s setting.
He looked back at Kristiana. “By God, they’re English!”
She gaped at him. The passion he’d suspected burned hot in her gaze and her brow crinkled with fine lines. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your uncle and aunt were English.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “And your point, sir?”
Tavish couldn’t stop his smirk, nor keep from reaching out to once more stroke her cheek. “My point, darling, is your precious Scottish blood is every bit as tainted as mine.”
She wrenched from his touch, putting distance between them with two backward steps. Her eyes flashed hotter yet, blue fire all but singeing him in its magnitude. “I am not your darling, nor ever will I be. As for my blood, ’tis folly you speak. I’ve never even been to England. I care not to go.”
He took a single step forward that brought him within half a foot of her, and forced his smirk into a reckless grin. What he really wanted to do was pin her with his darkest scowl and tell her just how inept and addled her reasoning was.Instead,hesaid, “I cared not to go either,darling ,” he said from between clenched teeth,“but we don’t always have a choice as to what we wish to have happen.”
Kristiana drew her coat tighter, but said no more, merely continued to glare at him. Loathe to argue with the woman he would soon spend his nights pleasuring and seeking gratification from in return, he shook off his temper and offered his arm. “Come, m’lady, introduce me to these villagers o’ yers.”
Her eyebrows rose and her lips twitched, almost as if she fought a smile. “If you think a false tongue will sway their faith, ‘tis a waste of your efforts, my laird. Actions speak far louder than words, or so I am told.”
“Then what you mean to say, Kristiana, is that whilst your words made it quite clear you wished me to stop, I should have instead listened to your actions. The way you arched your nipples so shamelessly against my mouth, the wetness that lathered the lips of your cunt, the way you wriggled your ass again and again against my hands as if you couldn’t get enough, and continued to…violate you, I believe it was?”
The twitching of her lips ceased and her gaze became frigid. The husky tremor in her words assured she wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she pretended. “You’ve asked me to assist you in gathering the villagers, sir, which I’ve done. Now I suggest you speak with them before they grow weary of waiting for their laird and turn to stoning him.”
Tavish’s smirk returned with renewed force. Warmth he deduced to be amusement settled in his upper chest, and his expression became an all out grin.
Scowling in return, Kristiana turned on her heel and made her way to the manor’s front door. He chuckled in her wake. If it was stoning the villagers chose to partake in, he held no doubt their lady’s would be the first stone cast.
* * * * *
The last thing Kristiana wanted was to like Tavish. More to be lured in by promises spoken in his deep Scottish burr—not the broken dialect he’d used at the manor, rather the proud and true tongue of a born leader. But as he stood before the villagers and shared his visions for the future of Landon, she could not help her feeling of hope. And maybe even a little respect.
“I would not lie to you, I’m every bit the Englishman my brother was.” A collective gasp stole through the crowd with this little known and even more rarely discussed truth. “But ‘tis Scottish blood that runs the truest.”
“Ye fought for the bastards,” a stout man cried out from the center of the pack. “How do we know ‘twas not yer own hand that felled our laird?”
Tavish nodded, the secure half-smile never leaving his face. “Aye, sir, I was at Culloden, but you’re wrong about my faith. I foughtunder the name of the King, but I foughtfor the Highlanders. Whilst several men were injured, only one was downed by my hand and that man was an English soldier.” His lips drew into a hard line as he added, “One who robbed your late laird, my brother, of his life.”
Kristiana’s heart turned over with the barely concealed ache in his words. She fought the sudden urge to massage the harsh lines of sorrow from his face. Was it possible he spoke the truth? Had he truly killed a man over Tomas?
“How can we believe you?” She heard the plaintive yearning behind the question, but not until Tavish met her eyes and a crooked grin turned his full, sensuous mouth did she realize she’d voiced it herself.
“You have only my word, my lady. If you allow me to prove myself, I will show you where my loyalty lies. I will show you the worthiness of your patience.”
She shivered at the promise in his black gaze. His attention flickered to her lips, and she held her breath against the anticipation that assaulted her, the sudden stroke of heat that caused her limbs to tremble. The wetness that had gathered in her undergarments back at the manor grew heavier and she could smell her arousal on the air.
Did the devil know the effect he had on her?
How badly he made her want? His wicked words about her actions two nights prior had her so hot, so ready to beg to feel his mouth on her again, to feel his fingers fondling her nether lips. Only this time she would not have him stop after a few idle strokes that took her to the edge and no farther, but bury his fingers deep into her slick core, until she was screaming his name in delirium.
At the image of him doing just that, liquid heat coiled between her thighs and an intense tingling had her shifting her stance. As if he knew her mind, he lifted his gaze to hers and winked. “Later, my lady, we shall bring an end to your squirming.”
The whispered promise had been spoken for her ears only, and still the idea others might have heard had her breathing increasing, her nipples turning to hard peaks that ached for his words to come true here and now.
Sweet Lord! He was turning her into a mindless tramp.
Tavish returned his attention to the people. When he spoke next, his voice rang louder, prouder, truer for his immoral actions, she was certain of it. “I wish to see this land restored to its former glory, the men, women, and bairns who once called Landon home return to their clansmen. First and foremost, I wish to see those gathered here before me this day trust again. In yourselves, in your neighbors. In your laird.
“’Tis the truth my heritage is flawed, but I’d wager few of you can claim better of your ancestry. Why, even your lady’s father, the beloved Rector Farleigh, God rest his soul, was a descendent of the English.”
A muffled cacophony of whispers and gasps fell over the crowd. Kristiana was confident her own gasp of mortification was the loudest of them all.
“’Tis the truth, is it not, Lady Kristiana?”
Tavish stared at her, his eyes burning for a response, and the respect and lust she’d been feeling toward him crumbled in turn to the snow at her feet. She could not lie to her people, no matter how much she might be tempted to do so. They trusted her to guide them. They only stood gathered today because she asked them to do so.
Resigned, she lowered her chin and nodded. “Aye, my laird. ‘Tis the truth. My family can trace their roots to England.”
His large, warm fingers settled beneath her chin and he lifted her face so she was forced to meet his eyes. The compassion she’d witnessed back at the manor claimed his dark features, involuntarily softening her opinion of him. “’Tisn’t something to be ashamed of, my lady. ‘Tis only your past. If we lived in the past, what would we have to look forward to on the morrow?”
Powerless to find her voice, she thought to pull away from him, but his words, his expression held her captive. The sinful urge to feel his hands and mouth upon her naked flesh returned in a mad dash, stirring heat low in her belly. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as her mind whirled with what felt to be drunkenness. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him. And it was so very, very wrong.
“He has a point.”
The woman’s loudly spoken words brought Kristiana from her trance. Still, she made no move to step away from the strength Tavish exuded. The raw virility. The maddening effect he had on both her mind and body. Shewas mad. For she found once more that she wanted to like him. Wanted to respect his efforts. Wanted to forget their pasts, the present, and all those gathered here today, and knock him onto his back in the snow, strip away his breeches, and impale herself upon the pulsing length of his thick shaft.
“Prove it!” a man called out.
“Later, darling,” Tavish whispered huskily, then casting her a smile hot enough to warm the coldest and most deeply buried of hearts, he released her to address the crowd. “I shall prove it. On the morrow, we begin the resurrection of Landon. By the first of the new year, Hogmanay, this village will be restored to its former glory.”
“We?” a stunned man questioned. “You plan to stand by and assist, m’laird?”
“Aye, I plan to swing the first hammer.”
Silence reigned for several long seconds and then one brave fool clapped. Slowly, more of the crowd joined in, until a sound so merry and hopeful it brought tears to Kristiana’s eyes rang through the streets of Landon. The sound of deliverance. Of hope. Optimism restored by the least likely of saviors.
She forced back her emotions when Tavish turned and offered his arm. She took it out of civility, with the idea her show of alliance with their laird might press the villagers’ faith ever farther in his direction. As for her faith, she wasn’t completely convinced yet. Close, but not quite.
She waited until the villagers’ excited voices were nary a whisper behind them to make this fact known. “That was a foolish move, my laird. Making promises you’ve no intention of keeping merely to earn respect.”
He stopped short and, using the arm she had looped through his, brought her around to face him. His dark eyebrows drew together, and what could only be described as lecherous amusement washed through his gaze. “And which promises would those be, my lady? The ones I made to the villagers, or the ones I made to you?”
The husk in his words sent her heart thrumming. As much as she had thought she wanted him moments before, needed to feel his long, sturdy staff embedded deep inside her, whether they be surrounded by people or alone, she wasn’t ready to admit it aloud. For once he knew the truth, there would be no stopping him.
She attempted to pull her arm free of his iron grip, but he held fast, making it clear she would be going nowhere until he allowed it.
Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and pretended she had no idea what he spoke of. “You made no promises to me, sir.”
Tavish raised his free hand to caress along her cheek, down the column of her throat to play at the vee where bare flesh met the edge of her coat and gown. The amusement in his eyes turned to outright lust, and her belly rolled with a fit of anxiety, even as her nipples tightened with expectation.
She fought back the desire creeping through her, rendering her limbs all but weightless and her inner thighs damp with a sticky moisture that seemed to be in endless supply in his presence. Where they stood, sheltered by the wood at the outskirts of Landon, they could easily be spotted. Even if she wished to respond to the hunger in his potent gaze, she could not. And she did not wish it. Not now. Not here.
At least, not the sensible portions of her.
His thumb settled in the hollow of her throat and his lips drew up in a wicked grin. “Oh, but I did, Kristiana. And you agreed.”
“I did no such thing,” she squeaked out, struggling to breathe normally as his thumb stroked over her skin with a languidness that was slowly driving her mad.
Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord. He was doing it again, she knew. Drugging her with his touch, with his voice. With his thumb edging ever closer to her swollen nipple.
She had no idea how he’d managed to glide his hand past her garments to the rise of her breast, but he had done it masterfully, and in such a way that he had her panting, eager for his stroke. Her nipples ached as the memory of his indecent words at the manor again reached her. She’d been so hot and needy, her thighs sweaty and her sex heavy with desire. And she’d been clearly senseless. He was a seducer, a scoundrel by nature, and she¼she was like a lost lamb to the slaughter.
His thumb reached its destination, petting her beaded nipple with hard, demanding strokes, and she forgot about time and place. Wetness dripped from her slightly parted thighs, past her thin undergarments to dampen her legs. Sweat broke out on her upper lip and her hands fisted with tension. Her whole body was afire. Flames of raw need licked at her center, flames only one man could put out.
Take me, she silently pleaded. Make me yours.
The pressure of his thumb left her suddenly, and she snapped open her eyes. His hot, spicy breath rolled into her face, and she gasped at his nearness. With the slightest of movements their bodies would be flush, with the simplest rush of skirts and opening of breeches, his shaft would be inside her, filling her, unleashing the unknown.
Nay, she was not ready for that!
“Prove it
,” he rasped. “Show me you don’t want what your eyes tell me you do.”
“I don’t want you!” Kristiana shouted, praying the volume of her words would make him believe and he would release her.
But he didn’t set her free. No, the fool chuckled. “So, is that what your eyes have been saying? That they want me? You really are a wanton little chit, my lady. I find it rather refreshing. Or perhaps it’s arousing. Yes, I believe that’s what it is.”
Damnation! He’d talked her into a circle. Made her say something that wasn’t true. At least, something she didn’t wish to be true. Drawing from the crispness of the air around them, she said as coolly as her heated body would allow, “The only thing my eyes said to you, sir, was to stop handling me.”
“Ah, but darling, handling is a necessity if you’re to be my mistress.”
A Gift of Myrrh Page 4