Karen Ranney

by The Devil of Clan Sinclair

  He’d never know anything of Scotland.

  He’d be as regimented as she’d been in England, without ever having experienced the freedom of being unnoticed at Cliff House.

  He’d never know his father was a unique man, one who’d created his own life rather than being handed a title he inherited. He’d never know he was the scion of a clan, the heir to an empire, one crafted from intelligence, determination, and a little luck.

  He’d never realize his father’s eyes lit up on seeing him, that Macrath often held Elliot in his arms, staring down into his face with wonder.

  Perhaps she could find a way to bring him back to Scotland periodically.

  Macrath would never agree to losing his son for any length of time.

  She turned back to Drumvagen, the beautiful day doing nothing for her sudden disheartened mood. As she walked, she glimpsed a flash of white through the trees. Curious, she followed the sight.

  The sounds of birds faded, but other noises took their place: her soft footfalls, the crunch of leaves blanketing the ground. Beneath the leaves was moist earth, the scent of it heavy in the air. Mushrooms clung to the trunks of the lichen-draped trees.

  The air grew cooler, the light more filtered.

  Suddenly, she was in a clearing. A gazebo stood there, painted white with delicate frescoes carved on its sides, a bronze statue of a stag mounted atop its cupola.

  She could imagine such a lovely structure at Cliff House, or even a park in London, but not here in the Scottish countryside, surrounded by towering trees and the silence of Drumvagen Wood.

  Was it used for hunting? Or simply to lure a forest visitor to rest and reflect on the surrounding beauty?

  She climbed the three steps and perched on one of the cunning ledges built into the structure. Here was the perfect place for contemplation and reverie. Here she could sit and wonder at the complications of her life, most of them caused by her own actions.

  She was the architect of her own misery.

  She heard a rustling sound, almost like something walking through the thick undergrowth of leaves.

  Standing, she waited, and when Macrath appeared, she almost laughed.

  “I thought you a stag,” she said, “and I was right.”

  “Were you, now?” he asked, smiling at her. “You found the gazebo.”

  “Did you build it?” she asked.

  “No, it was one of the few structures finished before the owner abandoned Drumvagen.”

  “Was it always called Drumvagen or did you rename it like you did your ship?” she asked, sitting again.

  “The name is several centuries old, I understand.” He took the steps, looking around him.

  “Are you taking a break from your work?”

  He sat beside her.

  “I was,” he said. “We had a small issue with the flywheel. I thought it was going to come off and roll right into the ocean.”

  She reached out and touched his arm, stroking the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath.

  “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  He studied her, his look so strange she wondered if she’d done something wrong.

  “I can’t remember the last time someone worried about me.”

  “Surely that’s not true. What about your sisters? I know Ceana was very concerned about your voyage to Australia.”

  He smiled. “It’s a different kind of concern,” he said. “With Mairi, it’s her unquenchable need to run my life. In Ceana’s case, she’s always been a mother hen.” He smiled. “She’ll make a wonderful mother.”

  The most recent letter from Ceana had come with the news she’d given birth to a healthy baby girl. Elliot had a cousin, one he could never recognize.

  “Perhaps my worry is warranted,” she said, forcing her thoughts away from their dilemma. “The first time I came to Drumvagen, there were puffs of smoke coming from the cottage.”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” he said with a smile. “Why are you here? Are you communing with the badgers and the foxes?”

  “Actually, I haven’t seen any animals. I should like to see a fox, I think. We used to have foxes near Cliff House. I don’t believe I’ve ever been close to a badger, though.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, stretching out his legs. “They’re not at all sociable, especially when they feel cornered.”

  “Like Brianag.”

  His laughter caused some nearby birds to suddenly abandon their perch and fly skyward.

  “Do I have problems in my household?”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “I’m a guest. I wouldn’t dare to offer a suggestion or a criticism.”

  He looked away to where the forest deepened in color until it was nearly a solid wall of emerald green.

  “You know that you, above all other people, have the power to say anything. Or do anything,” he added.

  She didn’t want the power. She didn’t, above all, deserve it.

  “Have I ever told you how much I love your voice?” She looked at him, holding his intent gaze. “It’s your Scottish accent.”

  His smile dawned slowly, became a wondrous thing lighting something inside her.

  “Sic as ye gie, sic wull ye get.”

  She frowned. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s the dialect around here,” he said. “I’m still learning it, good Edinburgh lad as I am. I said you only get out of life what you put in, one of Brianag’s homilies. And there’s always ‘muckle wad aye hae mair.’ Those who have a lot always want more. I hear that one a great deal.”

  “Say something else,” she said, smiling.

  “I could speak the Gaelic, but I’ll tell you things I learned in Edinburgh,” he said. “I was a precocious youngster.”

  “I can imagine the girls discovered you early,” she said.

  Would he have noticed her if she had grown up in Edinburgh with him? Would they have been fast friends? Would she have believed in him? She thought the answer was yes to all those questions.

  “I learned, too, ‘Never marry for money. You can borrow it cheaper.’ ”

  “Wise advice,” she said as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

  She should stop him now. They should be reasonable about this. They shouldn’t be kissing, especially when he had a teasing look in his eye.

  She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Macrath,” she said. Just his name, but it was warning enough.

  He placed his hands atop hers and smiled down at her.

  At that moment she knew she was lost.

  “ ‘They talk of my drinking but never my thirst.’ ”

  Like she thirsted for him? No, she wouldn’t say such a thing aloud.

  “ ‘Be slow in choosing a friend, but slower in changing him,’ ” he said, unfastening the top button of her bodice.

  She slapped his hand. “Macrath Sinclair, we’re in the middle of the woods.”

  “Ah, but we’re in the middle of the woods alone,” he said. “ ‘Fools look to tomorrow. Wise men use today.’ ”

  “Still, is it entirely proper?”

  He tipped his head back and laughed.

  She was too aware of him, each separate nerve and muscle attuned to his presence. Her skin was tight. Her heart beat so rapidly it felt like a drum inside her chest. Her palms dampened while her mouth was too dry. She wanted to weep while she danced for joy, and wasn’t that ridiculous?

  She was going to catch fire if he kept looking at her. He crooked a finger and she leaned toward him, surrendering her mouth to his. He kissed her slowly. Extending his tongue, he touched the tip of hers then withdrew, teasing her, taking her breath and causing her heart to race.

  The warmth inside her suddenly swelled, becoming a tide of need.

  “ ‘Willful waste makes woeful want.’ ”

  “We shouldn’t be wasteful,” she said, barely able to speak.

  A noise startled her. She froze, her hands on his shoulders. “What was that?”
r />   “A fox or badger,” he said, trailing kisses down her throat.

  She pulled back. It wasn’t a fox or a badger. Instead, it had sounded like footsteps on leaves.

  She pressed her hand against his chest.

  “Would you like me to go see?” he asked. “Just to reassure you?”

  She nodded. “It’s probably not necessary,” she said, feeling foolish.

  He smoothed his knuckles over her cheek. “I don’t want you worried,” he said.

  He bent and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She watched him walk away. How could a man be as attractive from the rear as he was facing her? His shoulders were broad beneath the white shirt, his back tapering to a lean waist, long legs, and beautiful derriere. His neck fascinated her, as did the shape of his head, his arms, even his large hands. What didn’t intrigue her about Macrath Sinclair?

  He had such energy. Surely everyone knew he was a different sort of person the minute he walked into a room. Macrath was a magical being, someone who’d decided on his course in life and would do everything in his power to reach his goals.

  Macrath Sinclair was not a normal man or an average one.

  Who was she to think she could resist him?

  Because he would have stepped away the moment she asked. He would have kissed her cheek and left her. He would have smiled and walked away.

  Why was it so impossible to refuse him?

  How much easier when they remembered their hurt rather than the passion between them.

  She should stand right now, leave this place and return to Drumvagen. Instead, what she truly wanted was for him to love her. Perhaps for the last time.

  If he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t have sought her out, knowing what happened when he got too close to Virginia. Macrath’s mind simply relinquished any will to his body. He wanted her desperately, and all the pent-up celibacy of the last year strained to be released.

  The fact he hadn’t bedded her in the last week was a damn miracle. Right now he was tired of being superhuman.

  “There’s nothing there,” he said, returning to the gazebo. “Perhaps a curious hawk. Or a rabbit, hiding in the leaves.”

  Her smile was a beautiful thing, moving him to place a kiss on her forehead. He wished he could stop time, freeze them both in tender foreplay.

  She pulled away. Before he could marshal his arguments why he should continue to kiss her, she startled him by walking to the back of the gazebo, sitting, and starting to unfasten the rest of the buttons on her bodice.

  He came and sat beside her, replacing her hands with his.

  She didn’t speak or dissuade him, for which he was grateful. Instead, she smiled at him again, making him dumbstruck with acute lust and love at the sight of her.

  Lowering his head, he placed a kiss at the base of her throat, then trailed a line of kisses down to the top of her black edged shift.

  She shivered in response, another reaction for which he was thankful.

  He possessed a mechanical mind, but the busk of her corset almost defeated him. Finally, it separated, allowing him to see her shift, and below, the shadow of her glorious breasts.

  “I remember loving you in the middle of the day,” he said. “In the bright sunlight.”

  She looked away, and he turned her face with a finger to her chin.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Virginia. I thought you were magnificent. It’s one of my favorite memories.”

  Her cheeks bloomed with color. “I like to think Elliot was conceived then.”

  Bending, he placed his lips around one nipple, gently sucking.

  “They’re larger,” he said, drawing one fingertip over the slope of a breast and down to the nipple.

  “An effect of bearing your son,” she said.

  Such a comment should not have had the effect of hardening him even further, but strangely, it did. He wanted her now. He wanted to simply widen her legs, loosen his confining trousers, and enter her. He’d hold her, looking into her eyes as he buried himself to the hilt.

  Instead, he bit back his impatience and looked away, concentrating on the thick growth of trees until he could control the lust surging through his body.

  Her fingers danced along his jaw, traced the edge of his bottom lip, teasing until he looked at her.

  “Won’t you kiss me?”

  “I’m trying to be restrained,” he said.

  She leaned forward. “Don’t,” she whispered. She smiled at him almost pityingly and placed her fingers against the placket of his trousers, pressing gently.

  “Not as restrained as you think,” she said. “I feel the same, only my desire doesn’t show.”

  His smile answered hers. “Not true,” he said, reaching out and gently flicking an aroused nipple. “It just shows in different ways. Shall I show you where else?”

  Her eyes widened.

  Spreading her legs, he moved between them, a hand on each stockinged knee.

  He reached in to the slit of her pantaloons, palming her. “You’re damp,” he said.

  She nodded, her smile having vanished a few seconds earlier.

  “If I were to move my fingers just so,” he said, pairing the action to the words, “I’d find you swollen and sensitive.”

  She licked her lips.

  One finger trailed through her intimate folds to the opening, stroking softly. She closed her eyes, biting her lips. He coaxed a kiss from her, inhaled her breathy sighs, and spoke into her mouth.

  “If I were to enter you now,” he said, gently inserting a finger into her, “you might gasp aloud. Or feel a surge of lust.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Do you feel lust for me?”

  How could she ask that question?

  “Endlessly,” he said. “Eternally. When I was sailing to Australia, when I was sailing home.”

  “But not in Australia?”

  The question startled a laugh from him.

  “Perhaps I met an attractive aborigine,” he said, “and she caused all thoughts of you fly from my mind.”

  She drew back, frowning at him again. “What’s an aborigine? And why have you given me such a conundrum?”

  “Why are we talking?” he countered. “When I could be inside you?”

  Her face flamed brighter but her eyes sparkled.

  “What conundrum?” he asked.

  Her answer was breathless. “I wonder why you weren’t lusting after me in Australia, while I should be grateful you weren’t. After all, I’m not entirely certain I should want you lusting after me.”

  “What a pity,” he said, words nearly beyond him at the moment. “When it’s evident to a blind man I do.”

  She kissed him without any further talk of aborigines or the propriety of lust.

  Then, even thoughts faded beneath the sheer bliss of loving Virginia. When she moaned, he stood with her in his arms. Sweeping the leaves away with his foot, he placed her on the floor of the gazebo. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place for a tryst, in the middle of the woods, but it was too far to Drumvagen.

  He needed her now.

  He wasn’t certain whose moan indicated fulfillment first. All he knew was the world dimmed and receded. For a time there was only her and the knowledge he couldn’t live without Virginia.

  Stretching his legs out before him, Paul peered up at the canopy of leaves. Pity he’d never learned about trees. He’d no idea if he rested beneath an oak or a pine.

  He’d picked a place not far from Drumvagen to have the carriage and coachman wait, but the day was too lovely not to take advantage of the sun and the solitude.

  He leaned back against the trunk, closed his eyes and let himself drift off on a cloud of thought. He was waiting for William to return, and until he did, he would simply enjoy the sunny Scottish day.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” William said, waking him from his semidoze.

  He blinked open his eyes to find the younger man standi
ng there, twisting his hat between his hands.

  “Ah, you’re back. What have you discovered? Any signs of the grotto?”

  From what he’d learned in Kinloch Village, the grotto led directly into Drumvagen.

  “No, sir. I couldn’t get close enough to the beach. There were people around.”

  He nodded, not showing his surprise or displeasure.

  Difficulty did not deter him.

  Paul was under no illusion Virginia would want to come with him. He’d been right in front of her and she’d never seen him. After a month or two at sea, however, she’d understand he was the right man for her. At first she wouldn’t be so compliant.

  William looked away, his mouth twisting. “There’s something, sir.”

  He stood. “Well, what is it?”

  “The lady?”

  “What about her?” Paul asked, adopting a disinterested air as he brushed the leaves from his trousers. He glanced at the younger man, surprised to see William’s face was flushed.

  “Well, what is it? If you have something to say, say it.”

  “I saw a lady like you talked about. Strange blue eyes and black hair.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s a bit of an itch, isn’t she?”

  Paul stared at him. “Why would you say that?’

  “She’s dabbing it up with the toff, ain’t she? Acting like a Judy, she was, out in the open and all.”

  “Was she?”

  William’s speech took Paul back to his youth and a host of unpleasant memories.

  “Him putting his Nebuchadnezzar out to grass right there where anyone could see.”

  “Where was this?”

  “In the woods. They’ve got a little building there and I saw ’em.”

  “Thank you, William,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

  “You still set on her, sir?”

  He was still set on her. But if it was Virginia who William had seen, she’d have to be taught she didn’t cheat on him. Not with the Scotsman. Not with anyone.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said. He would return every day for the rest of his life if he needed. He’d find this damn grotto and a way into Drumvagen. He’d find a way to get to her.