She removed her robe belt and wrapped it around his wrist near the headboard. Now, the hard part…she gently lifted his other arm. Sacrebleu, it was heavier than a tree limb, but she pushed it above his head and tied it with the remainder of the silk belt.
A snore escaped his nose. His chest rose and fell slowly. What would she tie his ankles with? She glanced about. Aha. She took his wide leather belt from the chair where it lay atop his plaide. She placed his big feet side by side, tightened the belt around his ankles, secured it to the footboard post, then slid the end of the belt back underneath itself at his ankles. Even a boar could not escape that.
She checked his eyes—still closed. Feeling a bit giddy, she lowered the counterpane, revealing twin ridges of muscles down his abdomen, an intriguing vertical band of muscle at each hip bone. A silky line of dark gold hair led in a trail from his navel down to the nest of hair his tarse sprang from. And it did indeed spring up, pointing toward his navel.
She studied his closed eyes again. He hadn't moved; his breathing was the same. She reached out a trembling hand and pressed her fingertips to his shaft. The skin was feverish hot. She jerked back.
Gathering courage, she touched it again—smooth as polished oak. No, smoother, the skin silky, but the flesh underneath like granite. The head was a different story. It was wide, forming a sensual crest. She slid her hand over it. It was firm but not as stone-hard as the rest, with velvety skin.
She must wake him. Would he be angry?
***
Lachlan watched Angelique through slitted eyes and pretended to sleep, continuing his deep breathing. What the hell was she going to do to him? When she touched his shaft, it was all he could do not to groan aloud.
Did the wench honestly think a Highland warrior wouldn't wake with this much handling?
God's bones! What if she took a whip to him—or a dagger—in revenge for his earlier actions? He would regret letting himself get into such a vulnerable position, but likely he could rip the fragile material and escape if necessary. Considering the way she was petting and inspecting his erection, she had something else in mind entirely. Saints, he hoped! Something he could hardly believe, after learning what she'd endured the year before.
Her cool hand surrounded his tight flesh and squeezed. Pleasure ricocheted through him and he wanted to flex his hips. Stifling a moan, he pretended to be awakening. "Angelique?" He yanked on his bonds and discovered he could easily pull them loose and slip his hands free if he wished. The woman didn't know how to tie a knot. But he would indulge her.
"What are you doing? Why did you tie me up?"
"No talking." She pulled a piece of cloth from her pocket and blindfolded him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"Something I will probably regret."
"God's teeth. I hope this has naught to do with a whip."
"I forgot my whip."
"Thank the heavens."
She stroked a cool hand over his chest, slowly as if exploring every inch. She dipped a finger into his navel and lust shot through him. When his erection jumped, she grabbed him again and squeezed gently. Pleasure wound through him and he growled. No indeed, this was no shy virgin.
Cloth whispered over skin and he imagined her disrobing. Aye, please. He wanted her so badly he held himself rigid. Waiting.
Climbing onto the bed, she straddled his hips and lifted his shaft. The tip prodded something hot and moist. He growled. Aye, take me, lass. Holding onto the headboard, he tightened his muscles and felt himself hardening further.
She pressed down on him, impaling herself. He experienced the bliss of driving an inch or two into her excessively tight, wet sheath.
"Oh!" she near screamed.
He moaned and muttered a Gaelic curse. "Angelique?"
"I am sorry to do this, my laird."
"Don't be. My God, I want you." He gave in to the urge, tilted his hips and thrust. Oh, aye! Another inch. "Untie me and I'll show you how much."
She cried out, breathing hard, and levered herself up. "Non. Arrêtez."
"Take off this blindfold. I'm wanting to see you."
"Non. Be still." She pressed down, and he met her with another thrust.
He slid deeper still, her wet heat surrounding him, squeezing him, making him drunk with desire. "Saints! You're killing me." He turned his head side to side, dislodging the blindfold a bit so he could see her beneath it. She was a beautiful nymph, with slender curves and creamy, perky breasts that bounced slightly when she moved. What a nice mouthful one would make. He growled, aching to suck one of those pink nipples into his mouth and toy with it.
She placed her hands on his chest and lifted herself, then down again. What torture! Her long red curls swung forward, tickling his chest.
Her fast shallow breaths and her moisture told him of her desire. Aye, ride me, Angelique. He watched their merging bodies for a few seconds and he near lost control. What an erotic sight.
"I didn't ken you wanted this. I thought you were afraid."
"Shh. Do not speak." She increased the pace, riding him with her eyes closed. She was breathtaking with the impassioned frown, flushed face and parted lips.
This was a first. Never had a woman tied him up and had her way with him. Strangely, he was starting to love it. But her gentle, shallow thrusts were driving him mad. He wanted more, faster, deeper.
He tried to suppress the escalating desire and wait for her. "Untie me so I can give you pleasure."
"Non!"
"You'll not enjoy it as much this way."
"You will not have control."
Control? That's why she did this. At first he'd thought it was in revenge for when he'd tied her up. But nay, it was so he would be at her mercy. She wouldn't fear him if he couldn't touch her. Still, he wanted to hear it from her mouth. "Why are you doing this?"
"You desired a wedding night, so I am giving you one."
Ha. "Is that all?"
"I wish to know why the women want you in their beds. What is so special about you besides your grand tarse?"
He almost laughed, but controlled it. "I thank you for the compliment, but you cannot know what I can do unless you untie me. I like to use my hands. And my mouth."
"I know," she whispered and stroked a finger over his lips. Lifting his head, he opened his mouth and sucked her finger inside. Of course she knew, but what he'd done earlier was only the beginning.
Giving a short purr, she drew her hand away. Pressing her breasts against his chest, she kissed his throat while she continued to ride him. Her hard nipples rubbed his chest.
"Mmm. Kiss me," he said, craving some deeper emotional connection with her he didn't understand. Normally fast and furious sex was his specialty, but that was not what he craved at the moment. He wanted to explore all of her. He had not tasted her nipples yet; he desired touching her everywhere at once.
She leaned forward and nibbled at his lips, placed a small lick between. He opened, welcomed her inside. With her lifted up like that, he took advantage and thrust his hips, driving into her over and over, deeper. She gasped and accepted him, held still for him. He moaned. She near squeezed the sanity out of him.
"You push me to the edge, mon ange," he said.
"I am not your angel."
"Aye, you are," he whispered. "I'm inside you, love. By your own vow, you are my wife."
A burning tingle rushed through him. He tried to hold back the impending release and think of something unappealing. But he was too deprived, had wanted her too long.
His climax broke over him like a wave of happiness and all the best feelings on earth. His mind deserted him and he was drowning in a sea of pleasure. He shuddered and groaned with the enormity of it. "Ah, God!" His breaths whooshed in and out during the aftermath.
Angelique lay still on his chest. He wanted to pull his arms down and hold her close. After a moment she lifted herself, releasing him from her body and climbed off.
"Don't go. Untie me."
She quickly slipped on her smock and wrap. "I cannot stay."
"Why?"
"Now, maybe I will have a child," she said.
"What?"
"We need an heir to be the next earl of Draughon, do we not?"
"Aye." Was that her only reason for riding him like a wild woman? Nay, she had wanted him intensely. She had been wet and aroused…still was. "Untie me." He could yank himself loose, wrap his arms around her and force her to stay with him, but…no. She should want to stay with him the night. It should be her choice.
She released one of his hands and before he could disentangle himself, she disappeared out the door.
"Angelique? Damn you," he muttered. This was the first time he had made love to a woman and not given her the pleasurable climax. But it was her fault.
He untied the belt of her wrap from his other wrist and then removed his leather belt from his ankles. After tucking the sheet about his waist he strode to her bedchamber door. He lifted the latch but found it barred. Why was he surprised?
He knocked. "Angelique."
"Time to sleep now, my laird."
"Let me in. I only want to talk."
"Non. You had your wedding night. Là. C'est fini."
It was not finished by a long shot.
***
Angelique jumped into bed and covered her head, her body still pulsing with desire. She felt empty and cold. Her body craved his wrapped about her. Inside her. His heat. She did not understand it; though his hard member had initially hurt as she'd forced it into her, once she started moving something changed and he'd felt divine. Though coupling should have been a dutiful, onerous task, it was something incomprehensible. A secret pleasure. The absolute opposite of what Girard had done to her. Yet the same body parts were involved. How was this possible?
She had been shocked at herself for enjoying the act. Such feelings went against all rationality. No, she could not indulge herself overmuch and slide down that slippery slope of needing him or falling for him.
She was afraid she liked her husband a bit too much. He was trying to steal her heart and blind her to his true nature, but she was not so naïve as he wished her to be. Likely, he would find someone else, no doubt several women, to amuse him, whether now or later. Her own actions would not matter. So much the better if her feelings were not attached to him.
***
"And how was your long-awaited wedding night?" Rebbie asked Lachlan the next morn. He used a low voice so the many men around them wouldn't hear. They, along with Dirk, stood outside while the Drummagan clansmen readied the courtyard for the traditional chief's inauguration. Each clansman carried a stone to build a short pyramid while Heckie supervised. Lachlan glanced up at the gray sky, hoping the rain would hold off.
Rebbie elbowed him, then lifted a brow.
"Why can you not be more like Dirk and mind your own business?" Lachlan asked. In the past, he might have revealed certain details of his exploits with women, but his wedding night was not up for discussion.
"He wants to know, too," Rebbie said.
"But he's not asking."
"That bad, huh?" Rebbie grimaced.
"Nay, 'twas good." Actually, she'd given him the most amazing, earth-shaking climax of his life. He only regretted that she hadn't enjoyed it as much that time.
"Only good? Not magnificent?"
"Indeed, magnificent. But what's betwixt a husband and wife is private."
"I see," Rebbie said in a dry tone. "Lady Eleanor wished to share something private with you last night. I found her hiding in your bedchamber, as you predicted, when you were with Lady Angelique."
"Hell, I forgot about her." He hadn't realized Eleanor would be so persistent in her pursuit of him. "I thank you for getting her out of there and keeping her occupied. Where is she now?"
"Still locked in the tower chamber, where I put her last night, alone."
"We must send her away from Draughon before Angelique finds out she's here. She is becoming too much of a problem."
Lachlan glanced back at Angelique, standing on the castle's entrance steps. So regal, she looked like a queen in her golden gown and bejeweled headpiece. Meeting her eyes, he winked and her skittish gaze darted away. Was that a blush?
He wanted to lick her head to toe and stay in bed all day, exploring every inch of her perfect body and each facet of her cunning mind. He would never grow tired of her. That realization struck like a punch to the stomach. God's blood! How could he know such a thing? He had no answer for himself; he simply knew. Facing forward again, he imagined the next time he'd get her alone.
"What the devil's so amusing?" Rebbie asked.
"Naught is amusing at the moment." Still, Lachlan couldn't hide his daft grin.
Dirk leaned toward them and whispered, "He's calf-eyed."
Lachlan scowled. "I prefer the word 'happy.'"
"Och. St. Andrew, deliver us," Rebbie muttered.
"This is an important and serious ceremony," Lachlan said. "And deserves my undivided attention."
"Aye. So stop staring at your wee wifey and pay attention."
"You blather on too much."
Lachlan tried to forget about Angelique and focus. He had been present at his brother's inauguration deep in the Highlands five years ago. The Drummagans had a similar tradition. He just hoped the pyramid of rocks, built to symbolize his elevated position as leader of the clan, didn't collapse once he sat on the chair atop it.
The Protestant minister said a prayer. Heckie, the Seanachaidh, recited the Drummagan genealogy back to the 11th century, then Lachlan's ancestry to the 12th century, which the older man had to learn from Lachlan in only a few days. Heckie then delivered a newly written poem in Lachlan's honor.
And he was honored. He still could not believe his great fortune in receiving a title, becoming chief of this strong clan and marrying Angelique.
Though last night had surely been bizarre as wedding nights go, it was unforgettable. He had to make sure tonight was better for her, and hoped she had stopped fighting him.
As for the Girard outlaw, he had seen neither hide nor hair of the whoreson. And they couldn't discern where the goblets had come from.
***
On her way to the great hall for midday meal, Angelique strolled along the dim corridor, passing servants and other clan members. She had not been close to Lachlan all day and must now sit beside him to eat. A sudden fit of nerves seized her stomach. What if he made mention of last night, either to her or to his friends? She would die of mortification. Yet, in another way, she looked forward to being near him. Too much. She could not let herself enjoy him and his charm too much.
"I am to take Lady Eleanor a tray of food," a female whispered.
Eleanor?
Angelique stopped and turned. "Wait."
The servants froze. "M'lady?"
"What did you say?"
The young servant lowered her timid gaze and curtseyed. "I have been instructed by Laird Rebbinglen to deliver a tray of food to Lady Eleanor, Countess of Wexbury, in the south tower bedchamber."
A hot torrent of fury raged through Angelique. "What is she doing there? When did she arrive?"
"I…I don't know."
Ignoring the fact she was supposed to be in the great hall for midday meal, Angelique continued along the corridor, toward the south tower. She would find out what the putain was doing here. Obviously, Lachlan knew of her presence if Rebbie did. But why had no one told her? Why had Lachlan allowed Eleanor to remain here? Angelique was afraid she knew the answer to that, though her heart railed against it.
A tall, burly guard, covered in thick leather armor and with a sword at his side, stood before the chamber portal.
"Unlock this door," she said.
"M'lady." He bowed. "I've been told not to."
"What do you mean? I know Eleanor is in there."
"My orders were to not allow you or anyone inside."
"Me? Who did your orders come from?"
"Lair
d Rebbinglen, m'lady."
"You do not work for Rebbinglen. You work for me."
"With all due respect, m'lady, Laird Rebbinglen said his instructions came from your husband."
A chill settled into her blood. "My husband?"
"Aye. His lairdship. No one is to enter or leave this chamber except for them or the servant who brings food."
Her icy rage spread. She would strangle someone—Lachlan. "Let me in or I shall relieve you of your duties. Your pay comes from my coffers."
The guard squirmed for a moment. "I must ask his lairdship."
"No. Now!"
"God help me," he muttered, unlocked the door and opened it.
Eleanor rose from the window seat. "Thank the heavens…" Her smile fell. "Oh, Angelique."
She forced herself to step inside the room. "What are you doing here? I do not recall inviting you."
Eleanor pressed a bejeweled hand to her huge bosom covered in rich fabrics, pendants and pearls. "What a horrid way to greet a friend."
"You are not my friend. You covet my husband."
Eleanor smiled—no, it was a malicious parody of a smile. "And I've had your husband. You are fortunate indeed."
Angelique felt as if she'd been struck down the center with a poleax. What did Eleanor mean? She'd had Lachlan since their marriage? She'd slept with him here?
"Oh yes, little Angelique. He is indeed an impressive specimen of a man, so seductive and commanding, is he not? Last night was breathtaking."
"You are lying," she managed to say in a seething whisper. Eleanor had to be lying, didn't she?
"Am I? Then how do I know the counterpane on his bed is green and that his window looks out over the courtyard and that a tapestry depicting Flodden hangs on his wall."
That bitch. "I shall kill you." She flew at Eleanor, her hands aimed at her throat. Before she made contact, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her from the floor. She kicked and elbowed the male who restrained her.
"Angelique. Calm yourself." Lachlan's voice was a growl in her ear.
She redoubled her efforts to damage him bodily, her elbows and feet flying and bashing. But he carried her squirming from the room, down the stairs and along the corridor to the solar.
My Wild Highlander Page 17