Sinful Scottish Laird--A Historical Romance Novel

by Julia London

  “You don’t esteem me,” she reminded him. “You shouldn’t look at me as if you do.” She sank her fingers into his hair.

  “I donna esteem you. No’ in the least,” he agreed.

  Her laugh was throaty and hoarse; she pushed on his shoulders, pushing him down. “No, I can see that you don’t,” she said as he went down on one knee at her urging.

  She couldn’t have possibly made him more ravenous than he was at that moment. It was incredibly stimulating to the man in him for a lady to know what she wanted and boldly ask it of him. He pushed her gown with both hands above her hips, and put his mouth on her sex.

  Daisy gasped again. He slid his tongue into the folds of her sex, and she grabbed his head between her hands, falling over him, moaning loudly as he laved her.

  “Uist, lass,” he said. “You donna want help to come running, aye?”

  “No, no,” she whispered. But she whimpered as he moved his tongue on her. She clutched at his head, draped one leg over his shoulder, and Cailean’s senses filled with the prurient sensation of her body. He had her at his leisure, deliberately and torturously slow, giving her what she desired. Every slight spasm of her body shot into him like white light, feeding the fire raging in him. His heart, beating wildly, was almost deafening in his ears, and he was torn between the desire to abandon all pretense and take her completely and his real fear of having them discovered—all of it mixing into a volatile swell of pleasure in him when she began to buck against him, desperate to reach her end. He closed his lips around her bud and drew it between his teeth, and Daisy was lost in a spasm of ecstasy, sobbing with her release, and stoking the fire in him to a white-hot pyre.

  He was throbbing, aching with his own need now. But he was satisfied in the way of a man who’d given a woman what she had craved from him. He took her arms and lifted her off him to stand. He was grinning like a victorious warrior as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. He bent over her, kissing her cheek. “Who is the good neighbor now, leannan?”

  She smiled at him as she brushed the back of her hand against his cheek. “You are undoubtedly the most cocksure man I’ve ever met.”

  He laughed, and she slid her arms around his neck and rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Do you esteem me now?” she asked.

  “No’ for as much as a moment,” he said and kissed her lips softly before pulling her arms free of his neck. “Now I must go, aye?” He didn’t want to go. He wanted to remain in this ridiculous shed with her all afternoon. But Cailean also knew that if he stayed, if he indulged in the bond they had created, it would be difficult to break free. He tenderly stroked her cheek, then opened the door of the shed. “Feasgar math,” he said and stepped outside.

  He walked around the back of the house and started down the grassy lawn to the loch.

  He still had to catch his supper.

  But he heard Daisy call him, and he paused, glancing back. She was running after him, in her hands a clothbound bundle. “The fish!” she said breathlessly when she caught up to him. “Please, you must take some with you. We have more than we can possibly eat.” She shoved the bundle at him, forcing Cailean to catch it with one hand.

  “Thank you,” he said uncertainly.

  “Will you come to dine tomorrow?”

  He eyed her. “Daisy, I—”

  “You are our neighbor,” she said. “Have you been without good neighbors for so long? We have too much fish and need all the help we can summon to eat it. Please say you’ll come.”

  He glanced at the bundle in his hand.

  “Please?” she asked and touched his arm.

  With his body still thrumming with desire, Cailean was incapable of refusing. “All right,” he said. “But only this once. I donna care for so much fish.”

  “Of course it’s just once,” she said and laughed. She let go of his arm, turned and dashed across the terrace, pausing at the corner of the house to look back at him. She raised her hand and waved, then disappeared around the corner.

  Cailean looked down at the bundle. Somewhere he heard a door close. He felt another door quite deep inside him open a wee bit.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Blue skies and a warm breeze met us this morning after yesterday’s dreadful storm. Though it passed quickly as Arrandale said it would, the storm laid down some of my herb seedlings. Uncle said that our next caretaker will need to do without bog myrtle through the winter, but that it might be bought at Balhaire.

  B now holds Mr. S in great esteem, and has proclaimed him a right good Christian man. I do wonder if we shall see Mr. S again given the apparent disappointment with which he rode away. At the very least, it would seem I discovered an unconventional use for his little potting shed.

  Arrandale’s hands are large and rough with use, but they are quite strong, which he demonstrated without conceit when he lifted the boat from the lake. Mr. S’s hands, by contrast, are fine and slender, and seem better suited for the harp.

  DAISY TOOK A late luncheon with Belinda, who nattered on about her apparently rampant fear that with all the rain they’d had, the roads would be utterly impassable when it came time to return to London.

  Belinda managed to mention their departure almost every day, as if it were imminent. Daisy hadn’t thought of leaving quite as seriously as she ought to have done. She’d grown into Auchenard, at least for the time being. She wasn’t ready to go back to London yet. There was still time.

  As Belinda continued on with her studied lecture on the state of country roads in general, Rowley appeared in the dining room with a silver tray, the sort that generally held calling cards. He bowed at Daisy’s side.

  “What’s this?” she asked, looking at a bundle of folded parchments.

  “It is the post, milady. A messenger has reached us from London.”

  Daisy glanced at the bundle of letters. “The post? Here? But how?”

  “I can’t rightly say, milady. I know only that he came up the lake from Erbusaig.”

  She took the bundle of letters and removed the twine. One, she was delighted to see, was from her good friend Lady Beckinsal, who had promised to keep her informed of events in London, and was the only person with whom Daisy had left instructions on how to reach her. Daisy decided to leave that missive for later, when she was alone and could laugh freely.

  The second was from her estate agent. She read it aloud to Belinda. “The roof at Chatwick Hall has suffered some damage. The repairs are expected to be fifty pounds.” Daisy looked up. “Fifty pounds! Did they lose the roof altogether?”

  “Roofs are almost always the first thing to fall in disrepair,” Belinda said as she spread jam over a toast point. “Once the roof begins to decay, the rest of the house will likely follow.” She glanced up from her toast. “You best ensure you set aside a bit for more repairs.”

  The last letter was addressed simply to Lady Chatwick, Auchenard, Scotland. But the familiar handwriting made Daisy’s heart skip.

  “Who is it from?” Belinda asked.

  “Rob,” Daisy said. “How does he know where to find me?” she asked as she broke the seal of the letter.

  “What does he say?” Belinda asked excitedly.

  Daisy unfolded the letter.

  My dearest Lady Chatwick,

  I hope this letter finds you and your son in good health. I pray this letter reaches you so that you might know I have arrived in London. Upon my arrival I went directly to your house but discovered, to my great consternation, that you had recently gone. Your staff, possessing a great sense of loyalty, refused to tell me, who to them presented a perfect stranger, where you had gone. One fellow relieved my suffering and said that I might find your direction with Lady Beckinsal. I was certain she’d not receive me, but as my name was not unfamiliar to her, the dear lady did take me into her s
alon. She did indeed take pity on me as she told me where you’d gone. She did acknowledge that you had received my earlier letter, but would not say more than that. However, she kindly offered to see that a letter was dispatched to you now.

  Daisy, if I may speak very plainly so that my intentions are clear, I have come to present myself to you. Perhaps I presume too much in saying that, but I have resigned my commission from the navy in the hope that I can resume our friendship. It’s been too long since I last laid eyes on you, and I pray that you still feel as you once did for me. Please know that my feelings are unchanged by all these years. I have held you in the highest regard in my thoughts and my heart since we were forced to part, and now I have given up all that I am for you. I can only hope that fate has led us to the place where we may realize the dreams we once had, together. My greatest fear is that your feelings have changed, and as you have left London after receiving my last letter, I fear that perhaps they have.

  “What does he say?” Belinda insisted. She was leaning eagerly forward, as if she were trying to read Robert’s words through the back of the parchment.

  Daisy slowly lifted her gaze. “He’s in London,” she said.

  “In London!” Belinda repeated. “His commission has ended so soon?”

  Daisy nodded. “And he still feels the same as he did all those years ago. And he doesn’t understand why I left.”

  “Oh no!” Belinda said.

  Daisy stood abruptly. “I shall write him straightaway and put his mind at ease. I’ll explain why I came, that I didn’t know how to reach him, or how long it would be before he arrived in London, and how the bloody clock followed me here.”

  “Shouldn’t we just go home?” Belinda asked. “A letter might take too long.”

  “It would take us at least as long,” Daisy said. “But yes...we ought to go home.”

  Belinda gasped. Such a look of relief washed over her face that Daisy’s gut soured. What was wrong with her that her cousin felt the weight of time passing so much more urgently than Daisy did?

  “If you will excuse me now, darling, I shall go and think on my reply,” she said and swept out of the room before Belinda could say anything more to add to Daisy’s sudden burden of guilt.

  She walked almost blindly from the dining room to the great room and the writing desk there. But instead of seating herself at the desk, she went to the windows and stared out at the world, at her private little world, her belly churning with many conflicting emotions. A sense of urgency first and foremost—she couldn’t lose Rob. She couldn’t. It was Rob. She had loved him so completely and without qualification, and was there a better prospect? But yesterday...yesterday there had been a moment when she’d felt something so strongly for someone else that she couldn’t quite dismiss it.

  “Daisy?”

  She whirled around from the window; she hadn’t heard Uncle Alfonso come into the room. He was without a coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. “Is something wrong?” he asked as he walked across the room to join her at the window.

  “No, nothing. Actually, something is right,” she said, trying to make herself smile. “I’ve received a letter from Captain Spivey.”

  “Did you!” he said, clearly surprised. “And what did the good captain write?”

  “He’s in London. And he feels the same for me as he did eleven years ago. He has come to make his case, and he is worried of my affection since he found me gone.”

  Uncle Alfonso studied her face a moment, his expression inscrutable. “What do you want to do?”

  “I suppose we should plan to return,” she said without equivocation. Of course they would. Anything less would be to risk her son’s future. She managed a smile. “My prayers have been answered, have they not?”

  Uncle Alfonso frowned slightly. He slipped his finger under her chin. “If this is the answer to your prayers, then why do you look so forlorn?”

  She wasn’t forlorn, really. She was...indifferent. She should have felt elated by this letter. That Rob went to such lengths to get word to her. That he confessed his feelings for her, which had been her most ardent hope from the moment she heard of him. “I’m not forlorn—I’m happy,” she said. “But I... I just finished the garden.” No, no, it wasn’t the garden that made her hesitate. It was her imprudent infatuation with Cailean and her very real desire to feel his rough hands on her skin again.

  Uncle Alfonso put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. “We’ll build another garden, darling,” he assured her.

  “But it won’t be the same, Uncle. Someone else will do the digging. Someone else will determine what to cut and what to plant and where to plant, and I shall be as useful as a statue.”

  Her uncle squeezed her shoulders. “Darling...have you perhaps developed an affection for someone other than the captain?”

  Daisy’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel her shame flood her cheeks. She knew it—when she’d returned to the lodge yesterday, no one had seemed to notice a thing about her, but she knew it must have been quite evident what she’d done.

  “I know Mr. Somerled has called a few times—”

  “Somerled!” Daisy suddenly laughed with great relief. “Oh no, Uncle. No. You misunderstand me. I’ve enjoyed my freedom. I suppose my lack of enthusiasm is because I realize it is at an end.”

  “But Captain Spivey is what you’ve hoped for,” he said. “He will be good to you.”

  “He will. I know he will,” she said. “I do want to marry him.”

  Uncle Alfonso smiled. “The bishop cannot settle a better match on you.”

  Daisy snorted. “I’m sure he’ll try.”

  “He does seem partial to his choices,” her uncle agreed. He dropped his arm and leaned forward, looking at something out the window. “I’ll begin to make the arrangements for our departure.”

  Daisy followed his gaze. “Is that Ellis?” she asked, squinting at two figures on the shore.

  “It is,” her uncle said. “Arrandale brought the escaped oar around today. He asked for Ellis.”

  Daisy watched as Cailean’s dog plunged into the lake, then turned around, paddling back to shore. “I should thank him,” she said and pulled her wrap closer around her.

  She left her uncle and made her way down to the shore to Cailean and her son. As she neared them, she heard Ellis’s laughter. She drew up, watching.

  They were throwing rocks, she realized, skipping them on the lake’s surface. Ellis was throwing as hard as his young arm would allow...something Daisy had never seen him do. She watched how Arrandale stepped behind him and held his arm, showing him how to throw the rock so that it would skip across the lake’s surface.

  Daisy and her sister, Marybeth, used to do that, too, when they’d played behind their grandmother’s dowager house. Marybeth had died of scarlet fever many years ago, and the sudden memory of her made Daisy feel quite nostalgic. She dipped down and searched the sand beneath her feet for a suitable rock. When she’d found one, she joined Ellis and Cailean.

  She reached them just as Arrandale threw a rock that skipped five times on the lake’s surface before it sank. As Ellis admired the toss, Cailean noticed Daisy. His gaze seemed to soften, the blue eyes spilling into her. Daisy smiled.

  “Look, Mamma!” Ellis cried gleefully. “Look what I can do!” He picked up a rock and hurled it. It didn’t go very far, and it sank without skipping. Ellis didn’t seem to mind—he was irrepressible, his face shining with pleasure. She was shocked by this boy. Her somber son didn’t laugh easily, and he didn’t take to physical activity.

  “Remember, lad, you must throw it with a bit of a hook, aye?” Cailean stepped around behind Ellis to mimic the throw with him again.

  “Watch!” Ellis said gleefully and threw it. The rock skipped twice. He whirled around. “Did you see?
”

  “Yes, I saw, darling. It was a magnificent throw!”

  Ellis squatted down and began to look for more rocks as Daisy moved closer. She frowned playfully at Cailean.

  “Why do you look at me as if I’ve stolen your dog?” he asked amicably.

  “How did you come to be in the company of my son?”

  “He and his keeper were wandering about like two pilgrims when I returned the oar Somerled sent sailing out to sea.”

  “That’s not his keeper—that’s his tutor.”

  “His tutor, then,” Cailean said with a shrug. “The man is no’ inclined to throw rocks and returned to his books, I suppose. Fortunately, your uncle sees the value in it.”

  Ellis threw another rock, too hard, and it plunked into the lake, sending big circular ripples out across a glassy surface of the water.

  “Try again, lad,” Cailean said and handed Ellis a rock, reviewing with him the proper mechanics.

  Ellis threw the rock, and it skipped twice. He laughed with delight. “Cailean knows how to sail a ship,” he said. “He uses the stars. Do you want me to teach you how to skip a rock, Mamma?”

  “I happen to know something of it,” Daisy said confidently.

  “You do?” Ellis asked, eyeing her skeptically.

  Daisy laughed. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a rock and showed it to Ellis. “Now watch,” she said. She braced her feet apart and then threw the rock. It splashed into the water and sank without a single skip.

  Ellis burst into laughter. “That’s not how it’s done at all, Mamma!” he cried. “Don’t be sad. My first rocks sank, too, aye?”

  Aye? There it was again, that word coming from her son.

  “Here, Mamma. Here’s one for you.” Ellis said, holding up one of his rocks.

  “Aye, a bonny one,” Cailean said and took it from Ellis. “Shall I instruct your mother, then?”

  “Yes!” Ellis exclaimed.