He could see the dark rims of her nipples through her bed-robe, the tempting shadows at the tops of her thighs. Her rose scent wafted beneath his nose, reminding him of exactly what he’d find if he parted her legs.
Sorley drew a tight breath, in agony.
His manhood twitched, demanding satisfaction.
He slid an arm around her waist, tugging her close. “Did you no’ hear me, lass?” He leaned down and spoke against the silken hair at her temple. “It’s nothing new for a man to come looking for me. He’ll be some saucy wench’s father or brother, maybe her uncle or a husband. If he wishes to challenge me, we will fight when he finds me. Until then, I have other cares.” Returning her to her room was the greatest. “Come, I’ll see you back to your guest quarters. You’ll sleep better now, having told me what worried you.”
He would spend the night’s remaining hours pacing his bedchamber, willing his thoughts on anything but how much he wanted her.
He’d run so hard he’d spill if he wasn’t soon rid of her.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to release her.
Instead, he caught her hand and kissed the soft skin of her wrist. “I didnae mean to shock you by telling you about this room.” He could see the agitation on her face, the high color in her cheeks.
He’d clearly riled her.
Perhaps it was better so. She’d keep up her guard with him, be wary. And then he’d find it much easier to kiss, touch, and scandalize her when the time came. If their act remained just that, he’d be better able to put her from his mind when she returned to her Highlands.
That was how it would end.
Yet…
His jaw clenched, fury swelling inside him when he realized he was still holding her hand, even circling his thumb over the silky-smooth flesh of her palm. Worse, he’d been kissing her fingers.
He set her from him, scowling. “You see, minx, this room has a witchy effect on men. They come here and do things they wouldn’t elsewhere.”
She colored even more, her sapphire eyes blazing. “The room it is now?” Moving away from him, she went to the refreshment table. She walked its length, trailing her fingers over the fine, rose-colored draping. “I do not believe you. Indeed”—she whirled to face him—“I know enough of coupling to be aware that doing so would be most uncomfortable in a chamber graced only with a victual table, a stone floor, and equally hard stone benches in the window alcoves. The maze of cushions would slip.” She strode into one of the embrasures, nudged the pillows with her knee. When the cushions tumbled to the floor, she gave him a triumphant smile. “No one keen on lovemaking would see such uncomfortable surrounds as suitable for their chosen pursuit.”
“Well observed, my lady.” For the first time since he’d entered the damnable room, Sorley felt a smile tugging at his lips.
A wicked smile, for the devil himself was riding him.
Mirabelle MacLaren brought out the worst in him. But he was a scoundrel already; a rogue not known for his use of fancy words or courtly manners. He was simply himself, so he rolled his shoulders back, appreciating how her eyes shone in the candle glow, aware that his next words might dim their light, perhaps even shocking her.
Still, he wouldn’t lie.
“Court ladies and their lovers dinnae enjoy carnal pleasures here.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, taking in the room in all its rose finery. “You are quite right in your observation.”
Her brow furrowed at that, but rather than marring her beauty, she looked so desirable in her perplexity that he didn’t care what happened next.
He wanted only her, and the hard beating of his heart warned that he did so in a way much more disturbing than the persistent tug at his groin.
He frowned, dismissing the possibility.
She glanced about, eyeing the chamber’s elaborate trappings. “But you said—”
“I told you men and women come here, and they do.”
“You implied they do more than talk.”
“So I did, and they do, just not in this room.” Needing distance from her, he went to the nearest tapestry, lifting its edge to reveal the hidden door beneath. “They slip into secret love lairs where they are ensured privacy. If you look behind each wall hanging, you’ll find a similar door.” Sorley opened the one before him, revealing another chamber. No candles burned here, but enough moonlight fell through several high-placed window slits to adequately illuminate the room. More lavish than the main chamber, the smaller enclave gleamed in the same rose tones and was nearly filled by a huge four-poster bed. “Here is where Stirling’s lofties take their pleasure. Have a closer look if you’re curious.” He challenged her, expecting her not to budge.
She surprised him by coming forward, again touching his arm as she stood beside him, peering into the little room’s opulence. He watched her gaze flick over the sumptuously dressed bed, the small but equally inviting couch, and the low table that held an elaborately worked iron stand upon which an oil lamp waited to be lit. The table also offered an array of earthen jars, each one clearly filled with scented creams and oils to be enjoyed during sensual pursuits.
The way her eyes narrowed on the jars proved she’d guessed their purpose.
“After what you’ve said, I wonder that these chambers are not occupied.” She glanced back at him, looking more curious than shocked. “I have heard laughter and muted voices through the walls nearly every night.”
Sorley shrugged. “The Wolf and his lady were celebrating in the hall this night. Like as no’, the revelers became a bit too merry and fell asleep on the floor rushes. It would no’ be the first time.”
“Then I should like to see more.” She tossed a look over her shoulder, toward the Rose Room’s main door. “If you think we shall remain undisturbed?”
“I can guarantee it.” Sorley pulled a dirk from its sheath on his belt and, without hesitation, thrust it into an iron ring beside the little room’s door. When he turned back to Mirabelle, he couldn’t keep a corner of his mouth from twitching. “No one will enter a chamber that’s been claimed. A man’s dagger or his sword, or even his cloak brooch, is signal enough that a pair is within, desiring to be left alone.”
“You have been here before.” Mirabelle’s voice held an edge.
When she slid a glance at him, he would’ve sworn he saw a flash of jealousy in her eyes.
“To be sure I have,” he admitted, ignoring how his heart had leapt to see her annoyance. “I am a man, lass. I wouldn’t have hot, red blood in my veins if I didn’t desire a comely, willing female.”
She frowned, her cheeks coloring prettily.
Sorley felt like an arse.
But he wasn’t about to tell her he’d been here with Maili. Not just once, but several times. Or that their activities in the secret enclaves had nothing to do with bed-play, but rather standing at opposite ends of the little rooms, their ears pressed to tiny crevices in the wall, hoping to catch evidence of Sir John’s perfidies.
The noble was known to frequent the Rose Room.
And more than one of the ladies he’d visited here had mysteriously vanished thereafter.
That knowledge had been a reason his heart had nearly stopped when he’d glimpsed Mirabelle in the chamber’s window arch.
Just now, she stood so near that he breathed in her witchy scent on every inhalation, a heady intoxication that only served to worsen his mood.
If she so much as bumped against his iron-hard, straining manhood, she would see how ready he was for her.
He was that primed.
Equally appalling, he was powerfully pleased by her courage. Most noblewomen of her innocence would fall into a swoon at the sight of such a decadent love lair. If they didn’t pinch their lips in disapproval, perhaps even slapping him for presenting them with such a sinful scene, they’d no doubt run from the Rose Room, crying that they’d been contaminated by wicked, abhorrent surroundings.
Mirabelle’s curiosity attracted him, earning his respect and admi
ration.
Too bad those were feelings he didn’t want to harbor for her.
So he put back his shoulders and let his frown darken, hoping to appear formidable, untouched by the joy it was to see her studying a den of pleasure with obvious interest and feminine delight.
“It is clear, sir, that you do not find me comely.” Her sudden observation almost made him bark a laugh, so far from the truth was her judgment of him. “Though,”—she looked at him, her eyes shining in the dimness—“you surely know I am willing enough for everything, given the request I’ve made of you. Indeed, seeing how you glare at me, I doubt there is any purpose in the act you propose we engage in, in the great hall.” Her tone held a challenge. “Sir John will not believe you’re truly seducing me if you find me so distasteful.”
This time Sorley did snort. He couldn’t help it.
He seized her arms, tugging her against him. “Sweet lass, if I found you any more delectable than I do now, this moment, you’d be on thon bed with your skirts tossed up about your hips and I would be buried deep inside you, riding you until you cried my name for all broad Scotland to hear the pleasure I’d give you. Be glad I have my honor, such as it is.” He set her from him, straightening his plaid before she could glimpse the rock-solid length of him straining to claim her.
Because he was so riled, he glared at her. “Dinnae fash yourself, lassie. Sinclair willnae have a shred of doubt when I take a seat beside you in the hall. He’ll believe what we wish him to think. My actions will give him no choice but to do so.”
“Say you?” Mirabelle held his gaze, lifted an artful brow.
Moving away from him, she went to the bed, touching its luxurious satin coverlet. “I hope you are right,” she said without looking at him. “He has been pressing my father, insinuating himself into his favor with tales about his knowledge and experience with the famed MacBeth healers. Sir John claims to have encountered them during a journey to the Hebrides. He thinks to visit my father at Knocking Tower to discuss herbs and healing.
“I needn’t tell you that my father would be swayed by such an offer.” She lifted one of the cushions, plumped it, and then returned it to the bed. “Most keen, indeed, if you’d hear the way of it. Little else matters so much to him as medicinal practices.”
“His daughter surely ranks higher.” Sorley was certain of that.
But she was toying with a thick gold tassel that dangled from the bed curtains, and watching her fingers pull on the heavy threads was making his loins grip so fiercely he could hardly draw a breath.
“You sound pained, my lord.” She flicked the tassel, appeared fascinated by its swing.
“I am no lord, my lady.” He emphasized her title, needing the formality it put between them.
“I would hear how you know Sinclair’s plan.” He remained on the enclave’s threshold, clenching his fists to keep from seizing her to him again. “You didn’t mention this when last we spoke.”
She turned to look at him, her gaze direct. “He approached me in the bailey, after I left you at the chapel. It was then that he—”
“Did he touch you?” Sorley was on her with two swift strides, this time gripping her shoulders. “If he so much as harmed a hair on your head, I will—”
“I pulled my lady’s dagger on him.” Her chin came up, pride ringing in her soft Highland voice. “I would’ve used it, too, had not the Wolf—”
“Alex? The earl?” Sorley’s brows rose. He knew the King’s brother despised Sir John.
“Him, and no other, yes. He came along with his lady, Mariota. Sir John made a hasty enough retreat after their arrival. They escorted me back to my guest room, even had a bath sent up for me.”
Sorley relaxed. “The earl is a hard man. Good to those he favors, but fierce to any who’d cross him. Sinclair wouldn’t dare. But Alex’s position as King Robert’s brother binds even his hands so long as he is here at court. In his Highlands, he rules with an iron fist. But after he rampaged through Forres and Elgin some years ago, earning excommunication for burning the Elgin Cathedral, even he is cautious in the King’s presence.” Sorley frowned, glad he wasn’t bound by such restraints. “The King still believes Sinclair is a fine enough man, only misunderstood and, at times, unlucky in his dealings. He sees the good in everyone, even the vilest. Sir John takes advantage, aye managing to remain in the King’s favor.” It was a talent the oily snake had mastered to perfection.
“Then it is even more important that no one suspects your ruination of me isn’t real.” Mirabelle drew away from him, forcing herself to be bold. Before her courage fled, she slipped out of her bed-robe, letting it drop to floor and pool around her ankles. She knew the plain linen nightshift beneath would reveal her nakedness.
She didn’t care.
She did smile, daring Sorley to notice.
There was no question that he did. A low, most masculine sound rumbled somewhere deep in his chest and his face darkened at once, his eyes turning almost black. Never had he looked more fierce.
“That wasnae wise, lass.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze tracking her length, down and back up again. “You dinnae ken what you’re doing, the dangers you provoke.”
Something leapt inside her, emboldening her even more. “You kissed me in the chapel to test how well I’d react to your mock seduction. Perhaps you should practice your own amatory skills, leastways so that you do not spoil our play-acting by glowering at me as you do.”
“Dinnae push me, sweet.” His voice was low, husky. “I can see your nipples, and more. That wee slip of a gown you’ve on hides naught. I willnae be responsible if you dinnae cover yourself at once.”
He bent to reach for her bed-robe, but Mirabelle placed her foot on top of it, smiling when he straightened to frown at her even more darkly.
“You said in the chapel that your seduction would require you to touch my breasts.” She couldn’t believe her daring, but he was so big and strong. Something inside her was awakening to the lure of him, urging her on. A hot, passionate female need that thrummed through her like liquid fire, igniting a need she couldn’t deny. “I’m thinking we should practice that now. You caressing my breasts.”
“I say you’ve run mad.” He didn’t budge. But a muscle ticked in his jaw, revealing his agitation.
The bulge at his groin was an even greater indication.
“One touch.” She held his gaze, unblinking. “So that I do not appear startled when you do so in the hall.”
He inhaled sharply, then released an annoyed-sounding breath. “Holy horned mother of all the heathen gods,” he snarled, reaching for her, yanking her hard against him. “You were surely put on this earth to be the end of all men unfortunate enough to set eyes on you.”
“As long as one man loses interest in me, I am glad.” She didn’t say how much his regard mattered. That she wanted to make memories, needed to take them home with her to the Highlands, to treasure forever.
“Damn Sinclair!” Sorley’s grip tightened on her shoulder, his fingers twisting in the skein of her unbound hair. Then he cursed again and swept his hand down over her breast, clutching her through the thin sheath of her gown. He caught and held her gaze, his own burning as he circled the thrusting peak of her nipple with his thumb. “This is how I will begin touching your breasts in the hall, lady. Take note, feel every rub of my thumb o’er you, and then ready yourself for this…” He let the words tail off, not taking his gaze from hers as he plunged his hand beneath her nightshift and started rolling her nipple between two fingers. When she gasped and bit her lower lip, the pleasure so intense delicious shivers streaked through her, he flashed a roguish smile—his first that night—and then he stopped rolling her sensitized flesh. Instead, he tugged ever so lightly on her nipple. Again and again until she was sure her knees would buckle if he wasn’t holding her so tightly against him. “As you see, minx, I can pretend sensual enjoyment as well as you. No one will guess we’re acting.”
That truth dashed her rising
passion as soundly as if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water on her.
“I do agree!” Jerking away from him, she snatched up her robe and swirled it around her shoulders. “And I thank you for indulging me.”
To her embarrassment, he nodded almost regally. “The pleasure was mine, my lady.”
Neither smiling nor scowling now, his handsome face was expressionless, as blank as stone.
Hers was flaming.
So she didn’t object when he placed a hand at her waist, urging her from the love lair back into the Rose Room’s main chamber, and then out into the better-lit corridor. But instead of joining her, he leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms.
He looked arrogant and self-satisfied.
Her heart thundered still, her body responding to him even now.
“Be gone to your room, lady.” He glanced that way, then back at her. “I will stay here until I see you slip safely inside. Bar the door once you do. I shall hear the drawbar slide into place and willnae leave until it does. Open to no one, not even me.”
“There is no danger of that.” She gave him her haughtiest look, then turned and hurried away, walking with as much dignity as she could muster.
It was hard, because she felt his stare boring into her.
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she also heard him curse again.
And in a way that gave her a glimmer of hope, making her pulse flutter anew.
Could it be he did care for her?
If so, it was a possibility that excited her far more than was wise.
Chapter Eleven
Such a fine view and yet…”
Mirabelle heard Sorley’s smooth, deep voice behind her and nearly fell from the battlement’s crenel notch. She’d foolishly bent over the opening in the wall, leaning forward to a perilous degree. The spot was Sorley’s favorite viewing point, which she’d known, but it was later in the morning than he visited the ramparts.
She’d felt safe, sure he wouldn’t appear.
Now he’d caught her with her rear quarters in the air. A position that was not just awkward, but also highly suggestive, especially after their ill-fated encounter in the Rose Room the night before.
To Love a Highlander Page 18