How the Dukes Stole Christmas

by MacLean, Sarah

  Fenella waved a gnarled hand dismissively. “Dinna be concerned with that anymore. Ye be well and truly compromised by anyone’s standards. Yer papa will force Sinclair’s hand, mark my words.”

  Her stomach dropped as she considered the veracity of that statement. If her parents were to learn of last night’s happenings . . . Heavens! Her hand flew to her already unsettled stomach.

  If Mama knew, there would be no dissuading her from insisting Sinclair marry her. She’d begin at once organizing the wedding.

  She dropped her head back on the pillow. “You are right. I am ruined.” Yes, last night had not been a night for thinking things through fully, rationally, and now she could see that she was indeed compromised. A fact that could not be undone, nor as easily overlooked as she once believed. Circumstances, should they come to light, would dictate they wed, and one look at Fenella’s resolved expression told Annis that she would waste no time informing her parents of her lapse with Sinclair. Good thing a slightly besmirched reputation wouldn’t matter greatly as a nun. Convents were known to offer refuge to women with sullied reputations. She looked miserably at the plate beside the bed. The biscuits resembled rocks. “Why even bother addling the duke’s head with your biscuits then?”

  “Och, ’tis always better if yer happy and eager tae marry because ye believe yerself tae be in love and loved in turn.”

  Annis laughed weakly. “Funny. I did not think you were overly concerned with my happiness as you pressured the duke into bedding me.” Not that she believed in the magical power of love biscuits, but on the off chance . . .

  Fenella chuckled. “I suspect he was halfway already in love with ye before he ate the shortbread. I watched the sparks between the two of ye. ’Twas the same way of it with his parents, bless them both.” She quickly made the sign of the cross. “The biscuits simply hastened matters.” The old woman gathered up Annis’s lunch tray and moved toward the door. “I’ll have a maid prepare ye a bath. Ye will want tae look yer best when he returns this eve. He is busy today seeing that we are properly fortified against these rogues plaguing us.”

  “Thank you.” She would happily accept a bath. Even if she did not require to look her best for him. “And what of changing into another bedchamber?” she called out, unwilling to give up on that quest, but Fenella was already gone, the door thudding closed behind her.

  As promised, maids soon returned and poured steaming water into a hip bath with a high-angled back so she could actually recline. Annis declined their offer for assistance. Alone again, she stripped off her shift and sank into the steaming water of the copper tub with a sigh. After a moment, she leaned forward and dipped her head under the water’s surface to wet her hair.

  Reaching for the lavender-scented soap, she worked a lather between her hands and started on her hair, gradually moving on to the rest of her body until she was covered in bubbles and smelling of the lovely-smelling soap. Using the full bucket sitting beside the tub, she doused herself with fresh water, rinsing off the soap.

  Sighing, she relaxed her neck on the lip of the tub.

  She wouldn’t linger long. Even if she was reassured Sinclair would not return until this evening, she needed to see about moving into a different room and keeping as much distance from him as possible.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Calder spent the entire morning scouting the property and making certain Glencrainn was well fortified with no door, window, or exterior area vulnerable. After he had prepped the outside, he’d turned his attention to the interior of the keep. Two men worked beside him, searching for every potential weakness.

  It had been a long time since this castle had to face invaders, but now that he’d seen the brigands with his own eyes and knew they were well-armed and a dozen strong, he intended to take every precaution. His staff was not trained in arms, but they outnumbered this foe, a fact he would use to his advantage.

  He remembered his father telling him stories of the castle and its long history. Of enemy clans attacking and how the Sinclairs had built a secret tunnel so that the family could escape in the event of an attack. The entrance to the tunnel was located in the kitchens. It was no longer a safe or viable means of passage, littered now with mostly-crumbled rock and debris. Impassable or not, he’d barricaded it, several wide-eyed kitchen maids watching as they kneaded bread for the day’s meals.

  The tunnel was the stuff of locale lore. The brigands could easily know or learn of its existence. He would leave nothing to chance and put none of his people at risk. The criminal mind was devious. If there was a crack in his defenses, they would find it. He stood back and gave the barrels stacked against the door a satisfied nod.

  He felt more at ease knowing he’d taken the necessary precautions to protect his home.

  “What ye doing there, Laird?”

  Sheila sidled up to him, swaying her hips and giving the flimsy cotton of her bodice a good tug so that the swells of her prodigious breasts were better on display. The redheaded lass had often sent him inviting looks. Mrs. Benfiddy frowned on the interaction and had voiced her disapproval in no uncertain terms.

  That lass is an ambitious one . . . has an eye on becoming the future lady of the castle.

  He’d always been on guard with Sheila, having no intention of marrying the lass, no matter how beautiful her face.

  “Seeing tae our safety,” he responded. “You needn’t fret.”

  Her hazel eyes flitted over his handiwork. “Ye think the reivers might try tae get in through the tunnel?”

  He shrugged. “Possibly. ’Tis no secret it exists. Until they’re captured I leave nothing tae chance.”

  She leaned in, pushing her ample breasts into him and covering his forearm with a hand. “It does comfort me, Laird, being under yer protection.” She swayed her breasts side-to-side.

  He lifted her hand from him and adopted an unyielding tone. “You have duties, no doubt, Sheila.”

  For some reason Annis’s face flashed through his mind and that was peculiar. He wasn’t engaging in anything untoward with Sheila, but he still felt a sense of loyalty to Annis. As though she was the only female allowed to lay hands on him—as though she were the only woman he wanted to touch him. Because she was.

  The mere idea of dallying with anyone other than the female he’d left in his bed sat cold with him. And that was a sobering realization. He shifted uneasily, refusing to examine that too closely right now.

  Sheila jutted out her bottom lip in a pout. “Is it that lass upstairs, then? I can be a fine lady, too. I will be one day. Ye will see.”

  “I’m certain of that, Sheila.”

  “Sheila!” Marie snapped. “Leave the master alone and get back tae yer duties before I box yer ears, ye cheeky lass!”

  She scowled at the cook, but did as she was told, backing away from Calder with reproachful eyes.

  He turned, only to pause at the sight of his housekeeper looming in the kitchen doorway. He felt very much like a child caught at mischief.

  “She is too much enamored of ye, Laird.”

  She wanted position, not him. Unlike Annis. What existed between them had nothing to do with his position . . . nothing to do with her angling for anything from him. Despite his earlier suspicions, he now believed that she cared nothing for his title, property, or wealth. Status mattered not at all to her. She wasn’t matrimonially-minded, and that very thing set her apart. Ironically, it made her more appealing. What he felt was more than lust. Annis. Annis. For God’s sake, her name made him giddy.

  Mrs. Benfiddy stared at him expectantly.

  “Rest assured, nothing will come of it,” he assured her.

  The old woman stepped aside, allowing him to depart the kitchen.

  Calder took the winding stairs to his bedchamber, passing down the long hallway. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his thoughts drifting to Annis yet again and the night before. She’d blamed the damned shortbread. She thought those foul biscuits were the reason he kissed her. Touched her.
Ached for her. Fool girl. He was not under any spell. He was a flesh and blood man who responded to a fetching woman pressed against him. Nothing more.

  At least that’s what he had been telling himself all day.

  He pushed open his bedchamber door and immediately froze. He thought for certain by now she would have changed rooms by now.

  Why was she still here? And why was he glad? Warmth hummed through him to find her here bathing in his tub. Bathing. Suds rolled down the smooth slope of her back. Shining skin peeked out between the bubbles and his mouth instantly dried.

  Her hair was piled atop her head with tiny dark blond tendrils escaping and trailing down her nape. It was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen.

  He must have made a sound because she twisted around and gasped, bringing her knees up to her chest, shielding her breasts from his view.

  Her eyes flared wide, enormous and frightened as any animal caught in a predator’s sights. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded shrilly.

  “Er . . . ” He cleared his suddenly tight throat as his gaze dragged over her, feasting on wet flesh. “It’s my chamber. What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be back until later, and I am here against my will,” she promptly replied. “I keep asking to be moved, but Fenella won’t permit me and she prepared a bath for me in here.”

  Fenella. Of course.

  Shrugging, he moved toward a bench positioned near the fireplace. Lowering down onto it, he began tugging off his boots. It gave him something to do besides gawk at her. Something other than looking at all that glistening pink skin. “Actually a bath sounds like a fine idea. Any room in there for me?”

  He grinned at the sound of her sharp intake of breath and the immediate sound of splashing water as she emerged from the tub.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she sputtered. “Haven’t you any decency?”

  He flicked a glance up at her and froze. She’d brought her shift up to cover herself, but the fabric was now wet and very nearly translucent pressed against her body.

  His heart pounded savagely. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he was under some spell. But not a spell cast by magical biscuits. She had wrought this witchery over him. She alone. He’d compromised her the night before and he was quite happy to do it again. Damn the consequences. He wasn’t without honor. He’d marry her. To have her right now, he’d do just about anything.

  Free of his boots and socks, he stood and stepped closer, advancing in his bare feet over the rug as he contemplated her, this female who had thrust herself into his life, falling from out of nowhere. Quite literally.

  “I rescued you from the imminent descent of brigands. Saved you from certain freezing. I think I’ve passed any measurement for decency.”

  She shook her head and his gaze fixed on all that glorious hair piled atop her head, his fingers craving to touch her there, bury themselves in the mass. Her mouth worked, seeking speech, but no sound came.

  He continued his hungry perusal, subjecting her to a thorough examination, his stare lingering on her poorly hidden breasts. They were a handful, perfect and his mouth watered. His palms itched. She was the most delectable woman he had ever seen, wet from her bath, her plump flesh exposed like a juicy fruit ready to taste.

  God. He was hard. She need only look down and see the evidence.

  As though she read his mind, her gaze dropped. Bright color fired to life in her face.

  Damnation . . . Perhaps he wasn’t decent. After all, he’d brought this lass here. He’d put a soon-to-be-nun in his bed and he’d done things to her no one should ever do to a virtuous woman with such holy aspirations. She was right. He was not a decent man because he wanted to continue right where they’d left off this morning and corrupt the hell out of her.

  Staring at her like this, he didn’t want to be decent . . . and that led him to several uncomfortable realities. Yes. He would make her his and even marry her. Because right now she was the epicenter of his universe. She was the only thing he could concentrate on. She and his raging, pulsing cock.

  He advanced.

  Her expression tightened as he neared her and she started to back away. Something sparked in him, a long-buried primitive urge to hunt and claim. To prove to this sharp-tongued lass that she didn’t want a life of abstinence. She wanted him.

  “Perhaps you’re right and I’m no’ good. Perhaps the true reason you haven’t left my room is because you want tae be here. With me. Now. Again.”

  She shook her head, damp tendrils of hair skimming smooth shoulders. “No.”

  “You wanted me tae return.” He gestured at the bath. “Perhaps you staged this entire enticing scene.”

  “Oh!” The red in her cheeks deepened. “I didn’t. I was told you wouldn’t return until this evening. And I told you I’m not after a title. I’m not like my sisters. I’m not trying to trap you—”

  “I know that.” He stopped before her. No. This was more problematic than that. If she were any one of her sisters she would be easy to dismiss. Easy to resist.

  He didn’t think she was trying to trap him into marriage. It was worse. She wasn’t, but he wouldn’t mind it anymore if she were.

  “Then . . . ” She shook her head and he caught a whiff of lavender. It only added to the headiness of her nearness. “What’s happening?” she whispered, and she looked almost childlike in her bewilderment. Part of him wanted to soothe her, but that wasn’t possible when this thing raged between them. Crackling heat, drawing him closer.

  “This,” he said, the word thick in the space between them as he reached down and tugged her shift free. He tossed it aside and she was left bare before him, her body damp and beautifully naked.

  He touched her, starting at her collarbone and coming down between her breasts in one long stroke.

  She trembled under his fingers. His hand was shaking, too. He felt like a green lad with his first woman. Not an experienced man.

  His hand stopped, flattening between the swells of her breasts. Her pulse pounded under his palm.

  She leaned forward slightly, the weight of her body pressing into his palm. She wasn’t running away. It was all he needed. It was all he could bear.

  His hand shifted to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing a nipple. Instantly it beaded, pretty and pink as a raspberry. He released a gust of breath at the sweet weight filling his hand. He cupped her other breast and she cried out, her knees giving out. She buckled forward. He caught her against him, gripping one sweetly rounded cheek as he claimed her lips. She moaned into his mouth, kissing him back.

  He gripped her in both hands then, lifting her high against him, thrusting his hardness against her soft stomach. It was a pale emulation of what he really wanted to be doing.

  He massaged her backside, delighting in the soft little moans and mewls escaping her.

  “Annis,” he growled against her lips.

  “Yes,” she panted.

  The kiss deepened and he half-carried, half-walked her until he’d backed her against a wall. She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed her breath, taking it deep inside himself just as he wanted to take her and devour her until they were one entity. She appeared to be of like mind.

  Her hands clawed at his shoulders and arms as though they couldn’t get enough of him. As far as he was concerned the only problem was that he was still dressed.

  “Och, pardon me!”

  He whirled around to see Fenella standing in the threshold, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

  Damnation! Did no one knock on doors in this keep ever? Clearly he needed to call a meeting with his staff and cover this simple protocol.

  Annis’s fist beat on his shoulder. “Calder!”

  He turned, mindful to keep his body blocking hers.

  Still grinning, Fenella murmured, “I just came tae see if Miss Ballister needed help finishing her bath. I’m so verra sorry, Laird.” Her smile revealed that she wasn’t the least bit sorry. “I knocked, but no one answ
ered and after Miss Ballister’s condition last night…”

  “Understandable. Don’t fash yourself,” he said tightly. “Miss Ballister is fine. Thank you. Would you give us a few moments?”

  “Of course. Take yer time.” Fenella slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  He have a brief prayer that it would stay shut this time, and turned to face Annis as she slipped out from between him and the wall, moving like a burst of wind. She snatched up the robe on the foot of the bed and pulled it on, unfortunately covering up all her delicious curves.

  “This is madness. I’m not . . . ” She gestured vaguely with her hand and shook her head. “… N-not this.”

  He nodded slowly. “You are. You’re no’ made tae be a nun. You’re made for this.” For me. The words popped immediately to mind, but he didn’t voice them. She already looked as skittish as a rabbit. He needed her to acclimate to the notion of them together. He himself was still adjusting to the idea, but the certainty was there. He wanted her. Wanted to keep her. Wanted her to want him back.

  He couldn’t articulate why or how he knew this, but he did. Just as for years he had felt certain of his bachelor status, certain that none of the young women in or around Glencrainn were for him, he knew she was. She was for him.

  She held his gaze for a long moment. “That’s not true. Either direct me to a different bedchamber or I’ll find one on my own. This castle is big enough. I’m sure that won’t be too difficult.” Her gaze darted over his shoulder as though judging the distance to the door.

  Did she think to lunge for it? Did she think he would imprison her in this room, in his bed like some kind of Viking marauder of old?

  He stepped aside and gestured at the door. He wasn’t that man and he’d show her even if it killed him. “By all means.”

  She hurried across the room to where her valise sat. She fumbled through it, sneaking him looks over her shoulder. With a handful of garments bundled in her arms she hastened behind the dressing screen. The soft sounds of her movements carried through the thin barrier. He inhaled and tried not to imagine her undressing. He grasped at his restraint. A female such as she would require skilled wooing. He was not confident he had it in him for that, but he would try.