A Lord for the Lass (Tartans and Titans)

by Amalie Howard; Angie Morgan

  “I want this,” he murmured. “I need this.”

  Panic reared its head in the midst of the passion clouding her brain. What did he mean, this? Ice replaced the heat in her veins. What he wanted was physical release. Nothing more.

  “Stop, Julien.”

  Obediently, he froze. “What’s wrong?”

  “We cannae do this.” She huffed a breath, her hands on his chest, the hard ridge of his arousal jutting against her center, threatening to dissolve all rational thought. “Do…do ye care for me at all?”

  He hesitated a beat too long, that sardonic mask of his slipping back into place, almost like armor. Like he needed to defend against her. “What exactly do you want from me, Makenna?”

  What did she want? She wanted comfort, true, but not like this. She didn’t want to be used. And she couldn’t help noticing that he had skillfully evaded her question with one of his own. Perhaps he didn’t care. Makenna’s skin felt chilled now. Walls rose up between them, the moments of passion fading faster than an extinguished candle. A few more seconds and they would have been past the point of no return. She should be grateful that she’d had the presence of mind to stop when she still had some of her wits.

  He was a notorious womanizer. Yes, she hadn’t been with a man in forever, but she wasn’t that desperate to eschew all her morals for what was clearly a meaningless tumble. And she would be just another feather in his cap, nothing but another female body he’d use to slake his lust.

  God, she was starting to hate that word, because lust was part and parcel of what she felt as well. And because most of all, she hated her own carnal weaknesses where this man was concerned. It was obvious he did care deeply for some things—like his mother and his fortune—just not for her. The knowledge made her feel strangely empty.

  But it was her own fault, Makenna knew. Julien had never pretended to be anything otherwise. He’d always been honest about who he was and what he wanted. And he’d never offered anything more. She’d misread affection where there was only desire. She’d confused lust for feelings. She was to blame, not him. The knowledge did not make it ache any less or make her feel like less of a fool.

  Confused and tired, she pushed off the desk. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

  His husky voice stopped her in her tracks at the door. “Why?”

  “Because ye dunnae form attachments and I…I cannae. No’ now, no’ when I’m hiding, and praying every hour of the day that the Brodie women Arabel spoke of have somehow kept the spy’s letters from the laird.” Her thoughts felt muddled and disjointed. “I thought mistakenly that this would mean something. I ken ye want to offer…comfort, but I need to be able to think…to concentrate on things that matter. And I cannae, no’ with ye, like this.”

  Makenna turned away, torn between the throbbing in her body and the warnings of her brain. She’d been a fool to even come in here.

  “Things that matter,” he repeated. “Like your fear that Colin Brodie will find you.” He grimaced. “Do you have any idea how much I’d like to crush that fear? Wipe it out completely?”

  The vehemence in his voice took her by surprise.

  “Ye cannae,” she whispered.

  “Perhaps not. But can’t two people offer comfort, as you’ve said, to each other?”

  “Ye mean with sex.” She sucked in a breath at her bold words.

  “If you wish it, yes.”

  Her blush threatened to cover her entire body. She was a widow. She knew what happened between a man and a woman in bed. Or in a study, as it were. But she was still a relative innocent in Julien’s eyes and in his obviously vast experience. “I’ll be another of yer female conquests.”

  “Makenna, in my bed, there are no conquerors or victors. There is only you and me, and the pleasure our bodies can create. That is it. Whether you make less of it or more doesn’t change that fact of the now. I want you. I’ve wanted you for months. And I know you, too, feel the desire between us. When you’re ready to take that step, I will be here.”

  She almost whipped around, confusion and conquests be damned. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she swore he would hear it from across the room. Her fingers opened and clenched in indecision on the doorknob, but eventually, she quieted her stampeding heart and walked calmly from the room. It took every ounce of willpower, though.

  She had her pride, as battered as it was, and her priorities: Stay ahead of Colin. Keep Malcolm and Tildy safe. Those were the only steps she should be thinking about taking. If she faltered, if she gave in to one moment of weakness, she could end up losing everything.

  Chapter Ten

  Julien stood at the railing of the northwest field’s paddock, watching the gangly-legged foal prancing alongside its mother. Wiley. The name had stuck, despite his insistence that he be the one to name him.

  The colt was a glossy chestnut color with two white socks, one on the front left hoof and the other on the back right. The way the colt frolicked, so light and playful, without a care in the world beyond the sweet grass and his mother, made Julien grin. He enjoyed seeing the boy, Malcolm, running happily behind the paddock railing, following the colt as it galloped. It was how childhood ought to be.

  It was how life should be. For Malcolm. For Makenna.

  It’s not your fight, he reminded himself.

  It wasn’t his fight, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. That was half the reason he hadn’t answered her the other night in his study. He did care. Perhaps too much. Which was why he was here, at the stables, for the fourth time today.

  Julien needed release from his surly mood, and watching Wiley helped. Observing Malcolm with the colt did as well. The boy was working with Alban today, learning how to handle the friendly and rambunctious foal, though Julien suspected knowledge of horses was built into the very blood of every Scot. Malcolm was a natural. As was Makenna. His scowl returned, a feeling of powerlessness returning at the thought of her. He was becoming much too entrenched, much too quickly. Makenna’s tenacity would be the end of him.

  The familiar flood of warmth to his groin distracted him. She’d so nearly been his…her luscious body, her full, wet lips as he’d ravaged her mouth. He could still feel the supple flesh of her hips in his palms, and the dewy heat of her core against him through the silk of their robes. They’d both been falling into a bottomless well of desire and arousal, yet she had come up gasping for air, for control. And then Makenna had asked a question—Do ye care for me at all?—and Julien was well aware that he’d driven her away with his reply. God, he wanted to knock his own teeth out every time he recalled it: What do you want from me, Makenna? As if her question hadn’t even deserved a response.

  It hadn’t just been callous and cold, but evasive as well. He hadn’t been ready for her question. Hadn’t wanted to answer with the first word that had cropped up in his mind: yes. Yes, he cared. Hell, he didn’t want to, but he did. And so, he’d asked why they couldn’t just offer one another comfort and pleasure, and she’d still denied him. Still left. What did she want?

  Not an attachment—she’d said so herself. Makenna had claimed she needed to be able to maintain a clear head, and she couldn’t do that when she was with him. He understood her worry, especially with the threat of Colin Brodie hanging over them. But didn’t she long to just…let go? Julien knew, however, that letting go was dangerous, and Makenna was a woman who had endured too much danger in her lifetime already. Trusting anyone after all she’d been through would be difficult for her. And she did not trust Julien, or his promises. Not yet.

  He’d grown frustrated, wondering how on earth he could gain her trust. She likely loathed him now, and while he’d never cared at all before whether or not someone loathed him, this time was different. This time—he could scarcely believe it—the urge to apologize nagged at him, tugging at all the bloody maudlin sentiments he shouldn’t have.

  Malcolm caught Julien’s eye and sent him a gap-toothed smile, the crop waving in the air as he practiced with it
. Something stirred in Julien’s chest as he saluted back. The short time the boy had spent at Duncraigh had already changed him; he smiled more often now, seemed more at ease. Julien only wished those cheered spirits extended to all his guests.

  He knew Graeme had left Makenna scarred. And the other night, Julien had reopened old wounds that had barely started to heal. But perhaps they were both too scarred for anything to go smoothly between them. Not without emotional entanglements. And those, he did not want.

  Julien had his demons, and she had hers.

  He waved to Malcolm and Alban, and then started back toward the castle. The guards Julien had posted around the property had not reported any comings or goings of unknown men or women. And Maxim had lent him a few of his trusted men to stand guard in the keep. As a result, whoever the spy was had gone quiet. Eventually, when the rat scurried out of its hole, Julien intended to be there to catch it.

  Perhaps Makenna and Malcolm would be safe here for more than the short time they’d anticipated. So long as the laird never learned Malcolm was his blood, the boy would be of no interest to him, either. Once Makenna started to feel safe—a feat that would take some convincing, he knew—would she stay? Or would she return to Maclaren, no longer fearful of bringing a clan feud to her family’s doorstep?

  Julien grimaced as he entered the castle, the cool air lacking the heat and humidity of the summer weather outdoors. His stomach dropped at the idea of her leaving Duncraigh. He tried to tell himself it was because of her meticulous and competent work as steward, but he’d never been very good at lying to himself. He stretched the truth with select others, but never with himself. There was no point.

  Julien ascended to the study, and when he was steps away from the door, scented her. Wildflowers and rain. His heart gave a stutter as he reached for the knob and opened the door.

  Makenna spun around, midway to placing an envelope on his desk. Her lips were pressed thin in surprise, her blue eyes wide and wary.

  “Oh. I thought ye were out.”

  So she had been tracking his whereabouts, making certain she did not cross paths with him. He wanted to tease her, but forced away the impulse.

  “I was. Now I am here.” He eyed the letter in her hand. “Were you leaving something for me?”

  For a moment, he wondered if it was a letter she’d penned, informing him that she no longer worked for him and was saying goodbye. His head swam with the possibility. She seemed to remember what was in her hand, and extended it to him.

  “A message from the port master. One of your ships was spotted off the southern bluffs and should be arriving soon.”

  Julien took the envelope and read it quickly, refusing to acknowledge his relief that it was not a parting letter from Makenna.

  “The Horizon, yes. I’ve been expecting her cargo for weeks.”

  He’d arranged for the purchase and shipment of a half-dozen mares and one stallion before he’d left Paris for Scotland, after reading Mr. Jobson’s report on the condition of the Duke of Duncraigh’s stables. It’d been a gamble on his part, but the solicitor had imparted that the land came with decent acreage and that the stable itself had been in good condition. Once he’d arrived and found the stock woefully lacking, he’d been glad of his decision. Julien might not know sheep or cattle, but he knew his horseflesh. And he knew business. Diversifying one’s source of income was always a smart strategy.

  “The cargo?” Makenna inquired politely.

  “Arabians, from Spain. I have a breeder there; the stock is the finest I’ve seen on the Continent.”

  Makenna nodded tightly, her surprise at being caught in Julien’s presence, despite her attempts at avoidance, now smoothing over with a mask of bland politesse.

  “Very good, my lord,” she said. “If ye’ll excuse me.”

  She started around him. Julien’s hand reached out, as if on its own volition, to stop her. Like a startled animal, she froze under his touch. He immediately released her. “Ride with me to the port. I could use your eye. If there are any that don’t suit the stables’ needs, that is.”

  God, he sounded like a half-wit, but he was being partially honest. He could use her opinion, even though the horses were all coming from a trusted breeder, one he had invested heavily in himself. What he truly needed was the opportunity to right what had gone wrong between them. How he’d accomplish it, he wasn’t entirely certain, but at least she would be at his side, instead of dashing off to whichever part of the castle he wasn’t currently in.

  After a moment of consideration, Makenna nodded, though her face remained pinched. “If ye’ll wait while I change?”

  For a moment, he thought it might be yet another ruse to escape him, but then Julien eyed her gown: silk the color of moss, and not at all appropriate for horseback riding. He nodded. “I’ll be in the foyer.”

  He spent the next quarter hour attempting to read some correspondence regarding lucrative stock he held in a trading company in China, though even the impressive numbers could not steal away the image of Makenna, currently slipping out of that silken gown in her chambers. He threw down the correspondence and left the study. He needed to clear his mind. Getting half hard from fantasies about the woman undressing was not an auspicious start to winning her over.

  To his surprise, Makenna had beat him to the foyer. “Eager for a ride, are we?” Julien asked with a propped brow. She smoothed her hands over the short jacket of her riding habit and scowled at his teasing.

  “No’ at all. Tildy is remarkably efficient.”

  She hiked her chin and turned to depart through the front doors, but just before exiting, she paused to refasten a loose button on her jacket. Julien had nearly caught up to her when he heard a strange grating noise, like rock moving against rock.

  It happened in a blink.

  Something large dropped from the sky directly in front of Makenna and landed on the grass with a whump. Julien did not even have a second to comprehend what was happening or to reach for her. She yelped and skittered backward, her heels treading onto his feet. He caught her, and with a stuttering pulse, saw what the object had been—a large block of stone, like something that had been part of the exterior of the castle.

  “Good God,” she gasped. “That could have landed on my head!”

  His heart hammered back into motion as he spun her around and looked her over. “You aren’t hurt?” he asked. Saucerlike eyes stared back at him, filled with blank shock. They fluttered, and then she seemed to realize the close grasp he held her in.

  “I…I’m fine,” she said, stepping out of his arms and peering up, warily. Julien did the same as helpless anger overtook his alarm.

  “Bloody wreck of a castle,” he swore, though he could not recall any other pieces of rock or slate coming free and tumbling dangerously. The place wasn’t in pristine condition, but the outside foundations and stonework were structurally sound. He frowned. “I’ll get a few men up there to take a look around. Are you sure you’re not injured?”

  Color had pushed back into her blanched cheeks and Makenna nodded, though her voice was breathy. “No’ a scratch.” She pointed at her clothing and attempted a wan smile. “Saved by a button, it seems.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It wasnae yer fault. It’s an old castle. Rocks fall.”

  He shook his head. “Not since I’ve been here.”

  “Accidents do happen,” she said, though he could hear a mirror of the doubt he currently felt inside. The worry, too. Julien hated the slow widening of her eyes as she let in more alarm as if considering the possibility that someone could have meant her harm on purpose. That their spy hadn’t gone quiet at all, but had shifted strategy. To maim instead of inform. Julien’s fury doubled in his chest.

  “Do ye think someone could have thrown it?” she whispered.

  “No, it’s too large for that. It was probably an accident as you said,” he assured her. “I’m certain that’s all it was.”

  But as they stepp
ed around the fallen stone and headed for the stables, Julien took a glance back at the turrets. He couldn’t see where the stone might have cracked off from, but the timing had nearly been disastrous. One second earlier and Makenna would have been crushed.

  Her breathing evened as they waited for their mounts to be saddled, though as they stood watching Malcolm prancing with Wiley and the head groom in the distance, Julien thought he could see her hands shaking. And why shouldn’t they? Her immediate and constant threat was a man who would imprison and torture her, and yet while she’d been hiding, she’d nearly been bitten by an adder and brained by a falling piece of rooftop. Danger seemed to follow her.

  Like the spy had. But if what Makenna had said about Colin was true, he would want her alive. It made no sense for the spy to attempt to kill her.

  Julien put it out of his mind when Makenna’s lips curved with a smile for Malcolm, as she sent a fond wave to the boy before mounting her horse, and then stared at him expectantly. The sparkling focus of that blue stare immobilized him. The only remnant of her earlier shock was the bright flags of color in her pale cheeks, but even so, her beauty was undiminished. Julien sucked in a breath, dazed for a moment as if he’d been hit by the tumbling rock instead.

  “My lord?” the young groom who’d saddled the horses asked, holding out the reins.

  He blinked and accepted the bridle. “Thank you, Douglas.”

  The ride to the port wasn’t long, but in the quarter hour it took to arrive, not one word passed either of their lips, not even about the falling stone that had come so close to crushing her. The silence stretched and grew between them, the gaping crevasse widening from a stream to a falls, and just as intimidating to breach. Conversation had never been something Julien struggled with; he prided himself on being able to banter with anyone, stable boy to lord, stranger to the closest of friends. Talking to Makenna had never been difficult, either—until now.