“Now, you listen here, Miss—”
“No, Henry, you listen to me. First of all, I am Lady Brookdale, not ‘Miss’. You may address me as such or my lady. Do you understand?” She waited until he reluctantly nodded before she continued. “Second, Legend is my horse. I trained him. I know what he’s capable of. If I say he should’ve won by two lengths, then I damn well expect him to win by two lengths. Do you ken?”
“Yes, Lady Brookdale,” the man reluctantly agreed.
“Excellent. You have one more chance. There’s another local race in two weeks. If I don’t see an improvement, I’ll no longer need your services.”
“You can’t do that,” Henry argued as his face turned a mottled shade of red.
“Ah, but you’re wrong. I can do that and I will do that. You have one week to learn to trust Legend. I wish you well.”
“Bitch.” The softly muttered word reached her ears moments before it reached Liam’s. Before she could stop him, Liam took a step towards the man and landed a punch that had the jockey sailing halfway across the stable. The man lay motionless.
“Is he dead?” Megan asked fearfully as Liam walked past her.
“No, lassie, he’ll live,” Hamrick answered
Liam returned with a bucket of water. He doused the man with the contents, bringing him back to the present.
“You should have stopped while you had the opportunity,” Liam told him. “Your services are no longer needed. We will have your things packed and sent to the Wolf and Dove along with a week’s pay. Now, get out.” The man had the audacity to open his mouth to argue. Liam loomed over him, pointing his finger towards him. “Get out before I snap your damned neck,” he gritted out the order between clenched teeth.
“I’ll get even with you, you’ll see,” the man threatened.
“If so much as a hair in Legend’s mane or tail is damaged, you’ll truly be sorry,” Megan threatened. They watched the man spin on his heel and march off.
“You’ve made an enemy of that one, lass, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Good riddance,” Liam said.
“You’re happy about this are you?” Megan spun on Liam, hands on her hips, as Hamrick dissolved into the background to care for Legend. “Where am I supposed to find a jockey at this late date?”
“You heard what he called you,” Liam argued.
“This is a man’s world, Liam. I’ve been called names a time or two by men.”
“Not on my watch. Not my wife.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said. “And as for being your wife, am I? Because you haven’t touched me in two days, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Meg,” he growled, looking around to see if anyone had overheard, but there was no one about.
“I need to go to town before I go home.”
“I’ll accompany you.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t. I’m not going to run off,” she said pointedly when he started to argue. “I just need some time to calm down.”
“Fine. Take the carriage. I’ll feel better if you have a driver and a footman with you.”
She nodded, crossed the ground, and entered the carriage.
“Wait,” he called and jogged across the packed dirt.
“What is it?” she asked impatiently when he stood at the carriage door.
“You are coming back. You’re not leaving me.” The words hung on the air as he issued the order.
“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she said pointedly before slamming the door in his face.
* * *
“How dare he order me about like that?” she muttered, reclining heavily against the leather squab. “I’m not the one who promised I would return and didn’t,” she continued. Anger oozed from every pore of her body. “Men, bloody, stupid men!” she growled before fisting her hand and punching the seat next to her. “And to think that I’m going to town for him, to try to help him.”
Something shifted within her as she silently acknowledged that she wasn’t just angry, but she was also frustrated. Frustrated because it had been two very long days since Liam had touched her in any manner. Megan might still have a jockey, albeit a poor one in her opinion, if only Liam had even kissed her or held her in the past few days. But, no, he had clung to his edge of the bed as if he were a man hanging on to the edge of a cliff, fearful he might fall. She knew he was angry and upset that his body would not respond as he, as they, both longed for it to. She knew the minute she had formed the question aloud that she should not have said anything, but that was not her way. Megan was not one to run from her problems, nor anyone else’s. Which is why she was currently on her way to Newmarket despite everything.
The coach came to a halt in front of the Wolf and Dove tavern and inn. Megan waited for the footman to open the door before she exited the carriage and entered the building. She looked about the room and laid eyes on a buxom, older woman who was wiping down the tables. Megan crossed the room, pulled several coins from her reticule, and approached the woman.
“Excuse me, I’d like to know who the healer is in town and how I might locate her.”
“She won't talk to strangers,” the woman said, looking down her nose at Megan.
Megan took the woman’s work roughened hand in her own calloused grip, turned it over, and placed the coins in her palm. She never broke eye contact with the older woman. “I’ll see that she’s very well compensated for taking the time to see me.”
“Take me to your driver and I’ll give him directions.”
“Thank you. Before we do that, may I ask you another question?”
“Aye.”
“I am in desperate need of a jockey to race a horse for me. Do you know of any in the area?”
“There’s Henry.”
“Out of the question.”
The woman thought before giving Megan several names. “They’re all young, but are bruising riders. I just don’t know if they have any experience racing at tracks.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate you taking the time,” she said and slipped her a few more coins for her effort.
“You might try Jim first,” the woman suggested.
“I will.” Megan led the woman outside where she stood and listened to the directions herself. The woman must think her a complete ninny, for the directions were simple enough. When the woman turned to return to the inn, Megan caught her arm, and held out another coin to her. “Thank you, again.”
“What exactly do you need to see Jack about?”
“Jack? The healer’s a man?” Megan worried her lower lip. How was she going to talk to a man about her husband’s sexual problem? Her head started to pound.
“Jacqueline’s her real name. Now what do you want from her?”
“A miracle,” Megan replied before climbing into the carriage and shutting the door.
Less than ten minutes later, they came to a small house that could only be described as a hovel. Nothing about it looked inviting or welcoming. It merely existed as a means of shelter for some poor soul. Hopefully, the soul that would help answer some of Megan’s prayers.
“My lady, are you certain you want to go in there?” the footman asked. His eyes and voice both relayed the concern he felt.
“Yes.” She took a deep breath, approached the house, and knocked firmly on the door. Megan had been expecting an old woman with moles dotting her face. Not that her grandmother, who was also a healer, looked anything like that, but something about the woman at the inn had made her suspicious, cautious. Instead, an auburn-haired beauty opened the door.
“Hello,” the woman, who looked to be a couple of years younger than Megan had a ready smile on her face.
“I’m looking for the healer. Jacqueline?”
“I’m Jack. Please come in,” she invited Megan. “I’m sorry, but do I have something on me?” the woman asked Megan, brushing at the front of her dress.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just you weren’t what I was expecting. An
d then the woman at the inn questioned my intentions.”
“That’s my aunt Hilda. She tends to be protective of me. Her mother, my grandmother was the healer, but taught me. Hilda never sends strangers here, you must have done something to impress her.”
“I paid her several gold coins.”
Jacqueline’s voice sounded musical when she laughed. “You know exactly what will win Hilda over. And what’s your name?”
“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Megan McTavish.”
“Megan McTavish, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jacqueline Grey,” she explained.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Megan sincerely replied.
“Thank you. Now, tell me Megan, why do you need a healer?”
“It’s a delicate situation,” Megan said.
“I don’t tell tales.”
“It’s not that. Well, I suppose it is, but it has to do with…well…”
“Sex?” Jack asked frankly.
“Yes,” Megan said, relief flooding her voice. She quickly told Jacqueline the problem. Then she sat quietly as she watched her pace the confines of her small house, tapping her finger against her lip as she thought. She would pause to ask a question here or there, but then she would resume her pacing. Finally, she came to a stop and turned to look at Megan, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but when he’s lost in the moment all is fine. It’s only when his mind becomes involved that things do not quite work out as you’d hoped.”
“That’s it exactly,” Megan all but shouted.
“I need to make him a tea that will allow his body to react without his mind becoming involved.”
“Would giving him whisky work?” Megan asked.
“No. Spirits have the opposite effect than you wish for. No, this tea that I will prepare will have him believing that he is dreaming and allow his body to take over, to recover.”
“How often will I have to make this tea for him?”
“Until he regains his confidence, and his body and mind can work as one once more.”
“How long will that take?” Megan asked, worrying her lower lip.
“Unfortunately, Megan, no one can answer that question.”
* * *
Dusk was upon them when Liam finally heard the coach turn up the drive. He walked over to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain so he could look out without being seen. Liam didn’t want to let on that he had been worried she would never return to him. Only when he saw Megan being handed down from the carriage did he let his breath escape. Had he been holding it the entire time she’d been gone? No, it was impossible, but the way that his lungs craved air, it felt like he had. When he saw her turn towards the house, he quickly dropped the curtain and took a step away from the window. She came back like she promised.
He waited for the door to open, but the house remained eerily silent. Liam knew she was at the stables checking on her precious horses. Why are you so upset? You would do the same thing if you were in her position, he attempted to rationalize with himself. Could it be you’re jealous of the attention animals are receiving from your wife? Liam taunted himself.
“Damn right, I am,” he said aloud. A knock sounded at the door to the room that he had converted into a makeshift office. “What is it?”
“You said you wanted a report, my lord,” the footman said.
The use of his new title continued to throw Liam. Would he ever grow used to it?
“My lord?” the footman asked looking concerned, pulling Liam out of his reverie.
“You’re right, I did. And what do you have to report?”
“We made a stop in town. Lady Brookdale went into one of the taverns and was inside for almost a half hour before she came out with a woman who gave us directions to a hovel in the woods. She was in there for several hours.”
“Hours?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And who was in this hut?”
“I did not see, my lord. The person kept to the shadows.”
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”
Megan’s Scottish lilt wrapped around him, urging him to close the distance and take her into his arms. Instead of listening to his gut and his heart, he let the devil on his shoulder have control of the situation.
“You’re excused,” Liam said to the footman. He waited impatiently before turning on Megan, “Where in bloody hell have you been?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want to know where you’ve been.”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t.” He tried to act nonchalant about the matter.
“Then it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Like hell. You’re my wife. You’re the one who wanted to stay in this mockery of a marriage, and you’ll bloody well tell me where you’ve been.”
“I’m not arguing with you in this mood. When you decide to calm down, we can discuss this.” Megan swept past him, but just as she reached for the door, it was pushed shut from behind her. She slowly turned around and looked at Liam, who had her boxed in. “I don’t think you heard what I said.”
“I want to know where you were.”
“I went to town.”
“Were you meeting someone?”
“Several someones, as a matter of fact,” she replied vaguely.
Her acknowledgement made his head throb as anger coursed through his body. “Who is he?”
“You’ve gone bloody mad.”
“You’re mine, do you understand? You wanted to stay in this wedded catastrophe, and that means you belong to me and no one else.”
“Excuse me? I don’t recall being trotted out at Tattersall’s like a mare for you to purchase. I’m your wife. It would behoove you to trust me.”
“Are you afraid to tell me who he is? Afraid I might hurt your precious lover?” He reeled when the flat of her hand made impact with his cheek.
“How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful to you? And furthermore, who would blame me when I’m married to a man who doesn't want to touch me?”
“Not touch you? Does this feel like I don’t want to touch you?” He gripped Megan’s upper arms and hauled her against him then took her lips with bruising force.
* * *
Megan didn’t fight Liam, instead she melted against him. He pushed her backwards and she felt the door at her back once more. He ground his mouth against hers and soon she pushed back; their tongues dueled with one another. She felt his hands tug on the bosom of her dress, until her breasts sprang free. The tips hardened almost immediately, anticipating his touch. When his calloused hands cupped her alabaster globes, she moaned into his mouth, but it wasn’t enough.
She reached between them, grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, and ripped it open. Buttons plinked on the floor. Megan took the opportunity to tunnel her fingers through the course, springy hair covering his chest. She broke the kiss and pushed him back slightly in order to drop kisses on his collarbone, before she worked her way down his chest, and finally over his rippled abdomen.
“My turn,” he muttered as he took her in his arms and carried her slight frame to the blank surface of the desk.
“Stop,” she ordered, when he meant to follow suit and rip her dress asunder.
“What?”
“I can wiggle out of it,” she said.
“You ripped my clothes, but are saving yours?” he asked as she bent over, grabbed the hem, and pulled it upwards.
“It does seem silly. I’m stuck,” she groaned.
“Good.”
Her arms were reaching towards the ceiling on either side of her head. She felt herself being lifted in the air then settled on what she could only guess was the desktop. Megan could see nothing because the dress covered her face. The sound of tearing fabric reached her ears shortly before she felt cool air on her body.
She squealed in surprise when his mouth covered one breast and began ardently suckling her. He lifted her sli
ghtly so that he had better access to her beautiful bounty. In the back of her mind she wondered if he had yet realized she had not been wearing any pantaloons beneath her dress. She felt his hands travel down her body and smiled when he touched her dewy center with a deep groan that she felt in her very being. He knows now, she thought pleased with herself. He began working at bringing her to pleasure with his fingers. Not again. This time we’ll be together, she vowed to herself.
Renewed determination to free herself from her dress had her wiggling desperately. She paused for a moment when she felt the hardness that greeted her behind the fall of his breeches. Keep his mind occupied with other things, she coached herself. A ripping sound filled the air, and she was finally free. “So much for saving the dress,” she said to him with a grin as she sent the torn garment sailing. Megan sat up and hooked a leg around each of his and pulled him downward so that she could kiss him once more. She loved his kisses, how they made her feel wanted and needed.
He slipped away from her, making a meal of her body as he worked his way downward. She moaned when he stopped to pay homage once more to each of her breasts, testing their weight in his palm, then suckling first one then the other. Her stomach went from flat to concave as he dropped kisses along her ribs down her stomach to her hips. Megan rested back on her hands and her head dropped backwards when he gently eased her thighs apart and kissed her there. Then he began deepening the contact until she was a quivering mass of nerves on the verge of explosion.
In a moment of sanity, she pushed him back and reached between them to release the buttons on his placket. She returned to placing kisses on his chest and running her hands over his body, distracting him from her intentions. “Kiss me,” she moaned, and he did. She took the opportunity to run her hands over his hips and hook her thumbs in the waistband of his breeches, pushing until they lowered enough that his erect manhood sprung free.
At first she kept one arm hooked around his neck, keeping him where she wanted him, fully engaged in their sensual kiss that was leaving her overheated. Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, she took his manhood in her free hand, gently caressing and stroking him, allowing him to become accustomed to her touch once more. Instead of shrinking as she knew he feared, his girth and length grew under her ministrations.
Enticing the Weary Warrior Page 17