A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors)

by Randi Alexander

  The tinkling noises called to her. If she went inside, she could peek at him one more time, take her fill of that finely sculpted body. She’d look, drink him into her memory, then be satisfied enough to spend her time planning her trip to Ellandonan rather than wanting a man she could never have.

  Aileen tiptoed into the empty bedchamber. The door between the two chambers was open halfway. Gripping the edge, she peered around it.

  Niall was still in the bath, his back at a slight angle to her. Lazily, with his eyes closed, he reached up to the table and felt around until his fingers collided with the soap. He took it in his hand, then plunged it underwater, stroking himself between his legs.

  Clutching the side of the door, Aileen swallowed a gasp. Her lips parted and her mouth went dry. Niall was…pleasuring himself.

  He dropped the soap and gripped himself. Hand over hand, he pumped his shaft. She couldn’t see exactly what he was doing through the cloudy water, but it was clear from the motion of his arms, the expression of pleasure on his face. The water rippled in concentric circles from his movements. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

  Aileen had never seen anything so arousing. She clutched the fabric of her skirt. It would be so easy to pull it up, reach down, and rub herself in the place that begged to be touched.

  Niall’s breath had turned ragged, each tug met with a harsh exhalation. Aileen fisted the fabric tighter and watched a crimson flush spread from his neck to his ears and down his chest.

  Still staring at the ceiling, he spoke, the word coming out as a half whisper, half groan. “Aileen.”

  He was thinking about her while he pleasured himself. Proof that he did desire her, then. His muscles stood out in stark relief, rippling with exertion. The bronze glow from the fire made the filmy beads of bathwater covering his pale chest and arms sparkle like tiny gems.

  And then he arched back, his eyes squeezed shut, and he groaned. Aileen watched, fascinated, her mouth dry, her body aching.

  All at once, Niall slumped. “Aileen,” he said again, but this time her name sounded like a mournful whisper.

  Aileen fled.

  She ran down the long passageway, straight to her bedchamber on its opposite end. Flying inside, she slammed the door shut behind her. Jannet, who had been waiting for her in a chair beside the fire, rose in alarm.

  “Is something wrong, milady?”

  Aileen put one hand flat on the door to steady herself. “’Tis nothing.”

  “Should I summon—?”

  Aileen rounded on her. “Summon no one, do you hear?”

  Jannet’s freckled face crumpled. “Aye, milady.”

  Aileen immediately softened. She had given Jannet the esteemed position of lady’s maid only a few months ago, and she sometimes forgot how young the lass was. Barely thirteen and quite softhearted. Aileen had never lost her temper with her before.

  “Shh…’tis all right. Comb out my hair; then you may sleep with your sisters,” she said gently. Jannet usually slept on the pallet beside Aileen’s bed, but tonight she wanted to be alone.

  Jannet curtsied and fetched the hairbrush. Thankfully, she kept silent as she helped Aileen undress and combed out her hair. After she left, Aileen lay under the covers, shivering, staring up at her embroidered canopy.

  She wanted Niall MacRae desperately. And he wanted her too.

  She was no longer married. She was free.

  Nay, she admonished herself. She was not free—she was bound to the laird and the Mackenzie clan.

  Aileen squeezed her eyes shut. What she wouldn’t give to be free. Just for one day. To be who and what she wanted to be.

  To be with Niall.

  Chapter Three

  Positioned beside him at the high table, Aileen glanced at Niall from beneath her lashes. He ate his porridge slowly and deliberately, a stony look on his angular face. If he sensed her watching him, he didn’t show it.

  He was so handsome. She remembered the intensity of his eyes when he had looked at her yesterday from the courtyard, the set of his jaw as he’d brought himself to completion…

  “Would you like a scone?” she asked, her tone polite but loud enough for him to hear over the general pandemonium of the men gathered to break their fasts in the great hall.

  With an abrupt jerk of his head, he turned to her. For a long moment, he stared, his eyes filled with the same blue heat she’d seen in them yesterday. A warm flush spread across her cheeks. But then his look cleared, and his eyes flickered away from her face as he reached for the plate she held out in offering. “Thank you, lady.”

  Holding her body still and schooling her expression to one of passivity, she watched him take a bite from the scone. How she wanted to reach out and place her hand on top of his. Just a touch would be enough to settle her trembling nerves. But she couldn’t.

  She bowed her head and picked at her own porridge. His proximity made her feel warm and jittery. Unsettled. The closer she was to him, the more difficult it was to ignore her base desires. She must find a way to occupy herself, to keep her distance from him—even though it might prove difficult when they traveled north.

  A part of her had no desire to stay away from him. She remembered how big his hands were as they stroked over his shaft, how her own body had reacted to him. How it ached for him.

  “Lady Aileen?”

  Aileen dropped her spoon with a clatter and looked up. Niall was gazing at her with a guarded expression.

  “Aye?”

  “The laird has asked that I escort you to Ellandonan as soon as possible. How long will it take you and your servants to prepare for the journey?”

  She blew out a breath through pursed lips, forcing herself to think. It wouldn’t be too difficult to complete the preparations for travel. Without Walter to complicate every step of the way, and with the help of her factor, Donegal, life at Dornoch had fallen into a smooth routine.

  She didn’t look forward to her meeting with the laird, but there was no reason to delay the inevitable. Shrugging, she said, “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? But you’ll require time to prepare your belongings, your servants—”

  She tried to sound stern. “I manage this castle efficiently. I require little in the way of baggage or servants. I’ll prepare my people with time to spare.”

  “Aye. Tomorrow, then.” He gave a small nod of acceptance and returned to his food, once again leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Aileen looked down at her Mackenzie men mingling with his men in the hall. For the first time since her marriage, she’d had the hall decorated for the season, with bright red ribbons, wreaths of holly, boughs of ivy and evergreens, and sprigs of mistletoe. It was festive and bright, and permeated by the fresh scents of the forest and the evergreens. Niall’s men seemed to be as content as hers, and it made for a hall filled with cheerfulness, even after the somber early services at the kirk, during which the reverend had scolded her for the décor. She had simply smiled at him, though. No more would she forget her grannie’s ways and forced into solemnity this time of year by either the Church or by Walter Munro.

  The mood throughout Dornoch had lightened considerably in the past few weeks, partly because of her attempts to celebrate the season but mostly because the men felt more relief than sorrow at Walter’s death. She couldn’t blame them for that.

  She slid a glance at Niall, who frowned down at his food as if in consternation. She didn’t want things to become awkward between them.

  They had been friends once, after all, and they would be spending more time together. Taking a deep breath, she turned to him again. “How long will it take to travel to Ellandonan?”

  “The roads are bad this time of year. ’Twill take a good week with your carriage, wagons, and baggage.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I dinna require a carriage. I’ll ride beside you. Have you forgotten how I like to ride?”

  His brows rose in surprise, but he sp
oke mildly. “Aye, I do remember. Still, you’ll bring a baggage train and servants. They wilna travel as quickly as you and me on horseback.”

  Aileen imagined the two of them riding side by side to Ellandonan on the rugged Highland paths, bundled up against the late-autumn chill. Laughing and free. It would be perfect—a dream.

  One that would never make the transition from the land of fiction into the realm of reality. As always, she would be bogged down by the baggage of her station.

  The smile slipped from her lips, and she nodded in concession. “You’re right, of course.”

  She felt the warmth of his eyes on her for several moments before he went back to his breakfast.

  ***

  Aileen spent the remainder of the morning preparing for their departure. After she took a brief midday meal alone in her study, she summoned Donegal, and they discussed castle business for the better part of the afternoon. Other women might have thought this work mundane, but Aileen thrived on it. Even Walter had eventually conceded she was better at running her castle than he’d ever be.

  Unfortunately, her next husband might not be as accommodating.

  She trusted Donegal implicitly—he was an old man who had loyally served her parents since before she was born. She knew that her lands would be in good hands while she was at Ellandonan. As their business wound to a close, Donegal tugged on his beard. “How long will you be gone, milady?”

  She rested her hands on her desk and considered. “The laird will be choosing my next husband. Once that happens, my husband will likely determine when we return.”

  Donegal frowned. “Several months, then?”

  Melancholy tugged at Aileen. She hated having to be gone from her home for so long, yet it was inevitable. “Aye, ’tis likely.”

  “Have you any idea what man he’ll choose, milady?”

  She shook her head somberly. “Gilbert Dunbar will be petitioning for certain.” The old man’s face darkened as she continued. “John canna overlook the advantages of allying himself with Gilbert. ’Twill assure him control of the border.” Impulsively, she took Donegal’s hand and gripped it tightly. “Please pray for me, Donegal.”

  He let his breath out in a hiss and squeezed her fingers in return. “I will pray, milady. He wouldna be good for Dornoch. Or for the Mackenzies.”

  “Nay,” she whispered. A cold finger of dread slid down her spine as she remembered the horror she had witnessed the one time she’d made the mistake of visiting his home. Aileen crossed her arms over her chest, fighting a shudder. “No good at all.”

  ***

  Gilbert Dunbar was getting nowhere with the Mackenzie laird. As his steward, Rufus, watched from an armchair, he paced restlessly from one end of the tiny room to the other. The laird had given him the smallest bedchamber in the smallest tower of this godforsaken castle.

  “Damn him. After all I have done for him with those damnable MacDonalds. ‘I’ll consider it,’ he says.” Gilbert scowled. “Patronizing bastard. To the Mackenzie, ‘consider’ means ‘when hell freezes over.’”

  Gilbert shoved a mint leaf into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He wanted Dornoch. He wanted Aileen. He always had. And now with Walter Munro’s death, he’d been given a second chance.

  Yet John Mackenzie had made it clear he had no intention of handing Dornoch and Aileen to him. John was a conniving, self-serving man who wouldn’t grant such a prize for nothing.

  Aileen was on her way here. A shiver of anticipation shook Gilbert’s shoulders. It had been two years since he’d laid eyes on her. He had salivated at the idea that he’d see her again, trembled with pleasure when he’d laid eyes on her, but the bitch had turned her nose up at him.

  He’d make her pay. First she’d pay for her haughty snub; then she’d spend the rest of her life paying for murdering his mother and destroying his life.

  But before that, he needed her to belong to him. Nothing was more important to him than mastering Aileen Munro. Nothing. Not even Dornoch.

  He knew that it wouldn’t be long before the laird decided who would marry her and acquire her lands. John needed all the friends he could gather to raise arms against the MacDonalds, and Gilbert possessed several connections in England, connections John needed. Gilbert was certainly the best candidate…and yet the greedy bastard seemed to want even more.

  “Damn him!” Gilbert roared again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rufus swipe the back of his arm over a sweat-soaked brow.

  Gilbert’s stomach turned. He took great pride in his high standard of personal hygiene, and Rufus was a slimy, greasy, sniveling excuse for a man. He spun on Rufus. “Damn you, for that matter. You’re dripping on the laird’s armchair, man. Disgusting. Why all the sweat?”

  Rufus smiled. Even in his anguished state, the curve of those thin lips broke through Gilbert’s revulsion and pleased him, for he knew it meant Rufus had an idea. Rufus was English, and like most English ideas, his were generally clever and underhanded. Rufus reminded him of a rat. Devious and shrewd, but small. Easy to destroy.

  “It is because my mind is engaged in the greatest exercise of all, my lord—thought.”

  Gilbert sneered. “Thought is useless if it doesn’t result in action.”

  Rufus tapped his long, pale fingers on the arms of his chair. “You will be pleased with this particular thought, my lord.”

  “Will it result in my marriage to Aileen Mackenzie Munro of Dornoch?”

  “Oh, most certainly.”

  Gilbert folded his arms across his chest. “Then by all means, spit it out, Rufus. I’m tired of waiting.”

  He’d been waiting for years, after all.

  ***

  Niall listened at the door for a long moment, then pressed the flat of his hand against the smooth, worn wood. He knew Aileen was just inside this room. He hadn’t needed to ask the servants where she was—this was where castle business was conducted, and Aileen loved Dornoch above everything else. She would be in here, taking care of all the necessities before her departure.

  He raised his knuckles to the wood and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. She was sitting at a chair before a low table strewn with parchment, wearing a dress of fine dark serge that made her long, plaited black hair glow with copper highlights. She raised her gaze to greet him. “Niall. I was just thinking about you.”

  Niall’s heart jumped. What had she been thinking? By the hooded look in her eyes, those thoughts hadn’t been all that innocent.

  Dare he hope she was having the same conflicted, powerful feelings he was?

  “Were you?” he said slowly.

  She blinked and looked down at the table. “I was, ah, hoping that the servants were assisting you and your men in whatever way you required.”

  Of course she didn’t share his feelings.

  Unable to move, he simply stared at her. “Aye. They are.”

  “That’s…excellent.” Aileen shifted in her chair. She had changed, somehow, since last night. She had seemed almost shy at breakfast, and now color flooded her pale cheeks. What had brought about this change?

  Abruptly, she rose from her seat. “Are you hungry? Can I offer you something to eat?”

  Hungry? Aye…so hungry.

  “Nay. I’ve just eaten. I’m here to thank you for your generosity to my men.”

  She waved her hand. “’Tis nothing.”

  Niall bowed his head to prevent her from seeing the longing in his eyes. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Aileen, to help you prepare for the morrow?”

  She took a step toward him, and her nearness almost broke his resolve not to touch her.

  She spoke softly. He loved the sound of her voice, low for a woman, but sultry and smooth. “Please, dinna be so…formal. Can we not be friends? Like we once were?”

  Unable to continue facing her without touching her, he turned away and strode to the window. Resting his palms on the sill, he looked out over the in
ner courtyard. For a long moment, he stared at the people going about their business below. Her gaze burned into his back.

  When he had regained some semblance of control, he pushed back from the glass. “Aye, of course we can be friends, lady.”

  “Aileen.”

  He forced a smile. “Of course. Aileen.”

  “Good. Are you and your men ready for tomorrow?”

  “Aye. And your men are ready too. You manage this castle verra well.”

  She gave him a genuine, warm look of pleasure. Clearly, she took pride in her work here, as she ought. “Thank you.”

  “And your women?”

  “They are near ready. They’ll just be packing the last of the bags.”

  He chuckled. “And I was worried you didna allow yourself sufficient time.”

  She grinned. “So here we are, with naught to do but be idle for the afternoon.”

  Idle pleasures… As he watched awareness of the meaning of what she’d just said pass over her face, Niall shifted his stance to alleviate the growing discomfort of his arousal. When Aileen was near, he couldn’t stop himself from craving those idle pleasures.

  Her gaze inched downward, coming to rest on the pleats of his plaid beneath his belt. Her tongue swept across her upper lip. Then, as if she realized what she was doing, she looked away, a crimson flush blooming over her cheeks.

  Her actions ripped through his resolve, tearing it to shreds.

  She did want him! She wanted him very badly indeed. But she was fighting it just as fervently as he was.

  He took a step closer to her. As if pulled by a string, his hand rose to touch her arm. She stared down at his fingers on her sleeve, wide-eyed.

  He could hardly get a word past the chokehold of emotion. “Aileen…I…”

  With a little whimper, she launched herself into his arms, tilted her head up, and pressed her lips against his.