by Paula Quinn
Boldly she moved over him. He bit her lower lip, then dipped his tongue into her mouth and spread his hands down her back and over her buttocks.
She could feel every rock-hard inch of him, and something so deeply primitive washed over her, she hardly recognized herself. She wanted to tear away the clothes between them and do more to his thick shaft than rub herself on it.
She’d never been intimate with a man before, but she and Will, along with a few other friends of theirs, had talked about it in the summer months when they sat around fires at night. She knew how babes were conceived, and who had to put what where. Some women even liked it—with the right man, of course. Temperance was convinced Cailean was the right man. She wanted to give herself to him. She’d never felt anything like the power of it before. She wanted him inside her, filling her. Pushing her fears away, she yanked up her skirts, and before she had time to do anything else, he flipped her over on her back and pushed her skirts up over her thighs.
He didn’t give her what her body instinctively wanted—his heavy cock. He spread her with his fingers and traced his deft fingers over her tight bud until she writhed and cried out his name.
Shockingly, he bent his head to her upper thigh next. He kissed her sensitive skin and then slowly, sensually licked and scraped his teeth against her until she bucked beneath him. She coiled her fingers around his locks and pulled his face closer to satisfy a need so primal she blushed at herself. Oh, what was he doing to her? His mouth burned her until she felt wholly consumed in flames. He drank from her, nibbled an excruciating path over her again and again. It didn’t take much more for her to find release at the tip of his titillating tongue.
In the aftermath she lay wrapped in his arms.
She thought about how she’d found herself in bed with a man, a man who had just shared intimacies with her, who made her grunt and pant and tremble in his arms. A man like Cailean Grant. She was tempted to tell him what she thought of him, and not just how he looked, though he looked fine indeed.
“Did ye like…” He didn’t finish but smiled a little shyly at her.
She remembered his telling her that Alison had been his first.
“I liked it verra much,” she answered, blushing again, liking that he wasn’t a master at pleasing women, even though everything he did to her felt perfect.
He kissed the top of her head and didn’t say anything else for a little while. The sound of his breath lulled her to sleepiness. She felt his body shift in her bed. He was either coming closer or moving away, she was too dreamy to know which.
“My fairest,” she heard him whisper, and sighed, close to slumber. “Fer months now I have felt like I died in Newcastle with Alison… after Sage… but ye’ve brought fire back to me, Tem.”
He called her the name her father had always used. She prayed she wasn’t dreaming, and if she was, then never let her wake up.
Chapter Nineteen
Cailean sat at the small table in Temperance’s room, her father’s quill in his hand. He turned to look out the window he’d unbarred a few hours ago. He’d freed the shutters to let some cool air inside, but it hadn’t helped, and now the sun was almost up. He felt as if he were burning from the inside—about to self-combust.
He looked over the second letter he was in the middle of penning. The first had been to his brother Malcolm at Ravenglade. The second was to Temperance. He jabbed his fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes. She’d sparked a fire in him to write again. He wanted to tell her that thoughts of her consumed him, that she had snatched his weary heart and held it renewed in her hands. But he wanted to tell her while she was awake, so he put down his quill. His gaze found her in her bed, still looking as maddeningly beautiful as she’d looked last night. He didn’t wake her but slipped out of the room and into Gram, about to enter.
“I aim to have words with yer cousin,” she told him sharply. “Where might he be?”
Cailean knew exactly where Patrick was, but decided it was best not to share.
“Do I need to tell ye that I’m not pleased at finding ye in her room with her in bed?” Gram told him as they entered the kitchen.
“She’s asleep and fully clothed,” Cailean defended himself, wearing a playful smile.
“I know. That’s why ye’re standing here still pretty. She’s my dove, Cailean Grant. If ye hurt her…” She made a cutting motion along her throat.
He met her narrowed eye and did his best to prevent the memory of what he’d done to her granddaughter from showing in his expression. “I’d let nae harm come to her.”
Her smile brightened and his went along with it.
“Let me make ye some fresh black buns fer Christmas morn. ’Twill take me but a few moments to prepare.”
“Och, ye tempt me mercilessly, Gram. But I’m off to the market in Kenmore.”
She raised her brow. “Fer what?”
“Gifts—something special fer yer granddaughter. I want to get an early start. I’ll take one of yer horses if ’tis all right. I should be back by midday. By the way—” He reached into a fold in his plaid. “Will ye see that this letter gets to m’ brother at Ravenglade in Perth. I’ll pay the deliverer handsomely.”
She nodded and took the missive and the coin, then steadied her soft gaze on him. “D’ye care fer her, then, Highlander?”
“I care fer all of ye, Gram.” He plucked a blackberry scone from one of Gram’s baskets and headed for the back door. “But I’m fallin’ in love with yer granddaughter.” He paused and turned back to offer her a smile. “Dinna worry. I’ll no’ take her from ye.”
He didn’t wait for her reply but left the house humming a song he’d heard an angel singing to him once when she pulled him from the fires of hell.
Temperance opened her eyes and smiled as her dream of Cailean began to fade. Had last night been real? She smiled and stretched, then ran her palm over where Cailean had lain in her bed. ’Twas cool. She sat up.
“Cailean?” she called out softly.
She looked at the unshuttered window and the shafts of morning light that stabbed the air. Morning. Her eyes drifted to the door. Gram was likely home. If she was, she’d definitely checked on her granddaughter.
Temperance still wore her shift and kirtle from the day before, but where was Cailean? Had Gram found him in Temperance’s bed?
She sat up and flung her legs over the side of the bed. Had Gram thrown him out? She left the bed and hurried to the door.
“Happy Christmas, Gram!” She hurried into the kitchen and gave her grandmother a kiss on the back of her head. “How is Anne Gilbert?”
“Not as well as ye this morn, I’m sure. Patrick MacGregor is a dishonorable lout.”
“Aye.” Temperance blushed, then looked down at TamLin mewling at her feet. “Cailean warned us the first day Patrick came here. Have you seen him?”
“Patrick?”
Temperance sighed. Gram knew perfectly well whom she meant. “Cailean.”
“Och, he rode to Kenmore fer gifts.”
Temperance blinked her sleepy eyes. “Gifts? For who?”
“Ye, dear. He’s quite taken with ye.”
Temperance smiled, thinking about lying in bed with him and all the kisses they had shared. He’d already given her everything she’d ever wanted. She wanted to twirl and sing and smile at the new day! Christmas! But Gram would no doubt catch on to her ridiculous joy and refuse to let Cailean back inside when he returned.
But oh, his mouth, and the mastery of it. She blushed and turned away before Gram saw her.
She’d wanted more of him. She wanted to lie awake with him all night and talk with him again and again… and then she wanted him to undress her and explore her. She wanted to do the same to him.
She wanted to know what it all meant. How far gone was her heart for him? Would he remain here in Linavar? If he did, he’d likely fight Murdoch next time the lord’s son arrived. And Cailean would just as likely die.
Her heart sank
and her smile faded. He couldn’t stay here, no matter how much Temperance wished he could. Not while Duncan Murdoch was alive and there was a chance he’d come back and try to kill Cailean again. She had no doubts about Duncan’s guilt in the first attempt.
She had to kill the lord’s son. And soon. She’d lost her father to him. She wouldn’t lose Cailean too.
She didn’t want Cailean to leave. She missed him even now. She missed his increasingly warm gaze, the attention he showed her, the way he helped her get through having lost her father. Seeing him around the house. Seeing him finally give in to laughter and beautiful unpretentious smiles.
She reached for a bowl and trudged along to the pot burning over the fire.
“What are ye moping around about?” Gram asked, not letting anything escape her notice.
“I’m not moping. I just—”
She stopped at the commotion coming from outside and went to the window to investigate. What she saw stopped her heart.
“Gram,” she breathed, her eyes fastened on Duncan Murdoch seated high in his saddle as he approached the house. Twelve hooded, masked riders rode behind him.
Her grandmother set down her apron and came to the window.
“Get to the back of the house, Temperance,” Gram ordered, and went for the door. She stopped when she reached it and turned to her granddaughter again. “Yer father isn’t here to protect ye. Stay hidden. Don’t come out.”
Temperance noticed Gram’s hands shaking. Fury coursed through her. She hated Duncan. She hated that Linavar lived in the shadow of his tyranny. He’d taken her father’s life. He should have died for it already, but Cailean had stepped into her path.
She was glad Cailean had gone to Kenmore and Duncan wouldn’t discover that he hadn’t killed his father’s guest that day in her cabbage patch.
She would apologize to Gram later for not doing as she’d asked, but she wasn’t about to leave her beloved grandmother out there alone with Duncan Murdoch.
First, though, there was something she needed.
She took off down the hall for the room she’d been sharing with Gram.
“Temperance!”
Duncan’s voice shouting for her stilled her steps and her breath. He’d come for her, just as her father had feared he would. Should she have wed William sooner? No, Duncan would likely have killed him next. She didn’t want anyone else to die. Just Duncan. And she wanted to do that herself.
With a hardened resolve to keep her vow to her father, she ran to the room, grabbed her bow and quiver from where they’d been set against the wall, and ran back out.
“Temperance,” he called her again, sounding closer. Temperance squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of his loathsome voice. The one that had accused her father and then pronounced him guilty.
He was just behind the door. Where was Gram?
There was no more time to think as Duncan kicked open the door. He stopped when he saw Temperance standing on the other side, her arrow nocked and ready to fly.
“What’s this?” he asked, his grin intact.
“Your last day on earth.”
He laughed while Gram hurried into the house behind him. Temperance glanced at her, relieved to see her alive.
“Put down that bow, Purrance.”
Temperance hated when he called her that. It was the name he used to call her when they were children and his father used to ride down from Càrn Gorm to do business with her father.
“I’m going to—”
He lifted a gloved hand and his riders rushed into the house next. One of them took hold of Gram from behind and put his gleaming dagger to her throat.
No! Temperance dropped her bow. The arrow skidded across the floor. “Duncan, please!” she begged, holding her hands up. “Please don’t!” Not Gram! She would perish if she lost Gram.
One of the riders suddenly crumpled to the floor. The one next to him went down just as quickly.
Temperance saw Patrick at the same moment that he saw Gram. He stopped swinging and held up his palm to still any further movement from anyone. Coming through the doorway next, William also came to a screeching halt when he saw the scene before him.
“Patrick?” Duncan angled his head to get a better look at him. “I’d wondered where you had gone. What the hell are you doing here?”
Temperance didn’t breathe. She prayed he didn’t mention that Cailean was alive. Duncan would surely want to finish what he’d started with two punctures in Cailean’s back.
“What d’ye think I’m doin’ here?” Patrick drawled. “Her name is Maryanne.” He ignored Duncan when the lord’s son quirked his mouth at him.
“Even a fresh arrow wound cannot keep you down, eh?”
“What are ye doin’ here, Duncan?”
“I’ve come for my bride.”
A sound came from William, as if horror had just made its home in his guts. But when Temperance cut him a glance, she noted that it was Patrick he stared at, not her.
She slipped her gaze to her bow and then to Gram. Her blood coursed through her veins, the sound rushing through her ears. “I won’t marry you, Duncan,” she swore.
“Oh, but you will.” He came closer. His grin deepened with naked male intent. “And since I understand that there have been no marriage vows spoken, I will keep the promise I made to you when you were but a spring maiden, to be your first. Do you remember, Purrance?”
She moved her face away from his hand when he stretched it toward her. “I remember slapping your face so hard I loosened your tooth.”
He laughed, then stopped when Patrick’s voice rang out. “Duncan, why don’t ye leave before someone is hurt?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Patrick. Go back to rutting your whore.” He kept his eyes on Temperance the entire time. “If you don’t leave with me, your grandmother will die. Do you want that, Temperance, so close to losing your father?”
Tears filled Temperance’s eyes and she tasted blood when she bit down on her tongue. She held her hand up to Patrick, silently begging him to back down. She couldn’t lose Gram.
“Let Gram go and I’ll come with you.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your choice.”
She’d go with him to save Gram. But did the fool think she’d marry him? She’d kill him first chance she got. Her bow would do no good. Crushed nightshade root would see it done. It was the most potent poison Gram allowed in the house. There was plenty of it to go around, since it flourished behind Anne Gilbert’s house. “Verra well then, Duncan. Just let me get some of my things.”
“Hurry along, then,” Duncan allowed with a wave of his hand. “And if you return with a dagger or pistol, you will only have yourself to blame for this dear woman’s death.”
Temperance hurried down the hall, but turned for the kitchen rather than her room. She worked quickly, gathering what she needed. She was careful handling the dried nightshade root, since even a little in a slight flesh wound was dangerous. She also shoved some smaller vials of hemlock seeds into the hidden pockets of her skirts.
She returned with TamLin in her arms instead of a satchel of clothing.
“Saying farewell to her is more important than anything I own,” she told Duncan.
She glared at the covered face of the bastard holding a blade to Gram’s neck. Was he the same man who had killed her father? He had dark-brown eyes. That was all she could see, but she would remember them.
“Don’t fret over me, Gram,” she said, throwing her arms around her grandmother. “I will return to you.” She spoke the last in a low whisper.
“She’ll be coming with us.” Duncan stepped forward and nodded to Gram’s captor to bring her with them. “To ensure your compliance, you understand,” he told Temperance.
Temperance’s stomach turned as he led her and Gram out of the house. He shouted orders to his men to help his two fallen mercenaries back to their horses. At least there was no longer a knife at Gram’s throat. She didn’t want Gram at Lyon’s Ridge, b
ut at least they would be together and she could keep an eye on her.
She studied the eyes of the rest of the Black Riders, searching for the one with silvery eyes, the Rider who’d nodded just before… Where was he? Who was he? No matter. She’d find him at the castle and he would suffer with the rest. She’d have to time the poisoning just right to keep herself and Gram safe. Little doses were safest. Her victims would die slowly, pointing no blame to her or Gram.
She passed Patrick with a brief glance, hoping he understood not to fight, for Gram’s sake.
William stopped her as she walked by him. “There is something I must tell you.”
She handed him her cat. “Watch over TamLin for me.” She hugged him and whispered quickly in his ear, “Tell Cailean not to come for me.” He could never fight all Murdoch’s men and live. She wanted to tell him that she’d get her and Gram out with her poison, but Duncan stepped forward and pulled her away.
“Your days of speaking to him are over,” Duncan told her, and shoved her along.
Temperance turned to glare at him. He wouldn’t have his barbarian kill Gram as long as he could use her to control her granddaughter.
She didn’t worry about never speaking to Will again. She pushed her feelings away and grasped the fury she’d leashed since her father died. Nothing had changed. She would decide her own future—even if it meant killing everyone in the castle.
She braced herself, and let the frigid cold consume her as she stepped outside.
Chapter Twenty
Cailean reined in his horse just before he reached the house. When he saw the crowd of villagers huddled around the open doorway, and Patrick’s fallen expression when he saw his cousin, Cailean’s heart dropped. Something was terribly wrong. He leaped from his saddle and hurried toward them.
“What’s wrong?” He went directly to Patrick. He felt sick with fear and dread. Why wasn’t she out here with them? “Where’s Temperance?” he demanded.