Eyes of the Cat: Unholy Wedlock (Part 1 of a 4 Part Serial)

by Mimi Riser

  Chapter 3

  “I should have scattered a trail of bread crumbs after myself when I left, so I could find my way back. I think I’m just going around in circles. Everything is starting to look the same,” Tabitha grumbled as she padded down what seemed the hundredth winding passageway she’d tried since reentering the keep. She’d found another lit candle, but it wasn’t helping much. “Honestly, this place is laid out like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. I’ll never reach my room at this rate.”

  She sighed when the passage ended abruptly in a semicircular alcove. The area was bare, save for a few stools off to one side and a large, three-section Oriental screen standing near the back, looking rather incongruous. How curious. What could it be there for?

  “Aahoooeeeeahhh…”

  The sudden screech rattled overwrought nerves. Tabitha’s hair stood on end.

  “Death… Death… Leave before it’s too late!” a banshee voice wailed. “Ahooeeeooahh…”

  Uh-huh.

  Silently, Tabitha crept toward the screen, like a cat stalking a mouse. With a single quick move, she grabbed the nearest panel and snapped it back. The screen wobbled, overbalanced and tipped over, landing on the wood floor with a heavy thud.

  “Oh! Now see what you’ve done!” A tall, willowy young woman with extravagant red hair, piercing blue eyes, and an almost blinding canary yellow negligee stood staring at the screen in dismay. She stamped her foot. “If it’s been damaged, Uncle Angus will hang me by my thumbs and then have me hurled into the moat! That screen belonged to his mother.”

  She glanced at Tabitha, her brows suddenly pulled together with thought. “Or, maybe it was his grandmother’s. I can’t remember. Anyway”—she heaved a dramatic sigh—“he’s very fond of it. Here, help me set it right. I’m Mary MacAllister, by the way. But I detest being called Mary—it’s too mundane—so I’ve changed my name to Esmeralda,” she chattered as the screen was lifted back into position. “What do you think?”

  Tabitha was studying the ornate panels as best she could by the light of her candle. “It looks all right to me.”

  Mary-Esmeralda gave a disgusted snort. “I didn’t mean the screen! Who cares about that silly old thing?” She gave it a kick that almost toppled it again. “I want to know how you like my name. Don’t you think Esmeralda has the wildest, most romantic sound to it?” She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

  “Why, yes,” Tabitha said in the voice she reserved for small children and fussy lapdogs. “It makes you sound like a Spanish flamenco dancer.”

  The blue eyes snapped open. “Oh, no! That will never do. I can’t sound like a flamenco dancer. They make far too much noise. All that heel clicking and those castanets—they sound like a herd of stampeding crickets!” She angled away, her brow furrowed with furious thinking. “I know! I’ll call myself Ophelia,” she exclaimed, spinning triumphantly back to face Tabitha. “What do you think of Ophelia? Or… Wait!” She flung out an arm for attention. “Flavia! Or maybe Angelique? Sophia? Desdemona? Oh, it’s so difficult to decide! What do you think?” she demanded, stamping her foot again.

  “How about Cassandra?” Tabitha suggested, thinking of the beautiful, mad princess from Greek mythology.

  “Cassandra?” The young woman’s head quirked to the side, as though she were listening to some distant melody. “Cassandra MacAllister… I like that very much, I think. It’ll look good in print, too. I’m going to be a famous playwright, you know. And star in all of them myself. Cassandra, it is then! Thank you, Tabitha.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Oh wipe that silly shock off your face. Everyone here knows who you are. Didn’t you see your audience the other night when Alan dragged you up the keep’s ramp? That was quite a show you put on. I almost applauded. It didn’t fool me any, of course—I knew what you were up to—but it was entertaining, nonetheless. I may use it in my next play,” the redhead finally finished, because she’d run out of breath. She stared at Tabitha through narrow blue slits, a sly grin curling the corners of her mouth.

  Tabitha stared back through equally narrowed eyes and the opposite of a grin tightening her expression. “What are you talking about, Cassandra?”

  “As if you didn’t know,” the new Cassandra chanted, wafting dreamily across the alcove and seating herself on one of the stools in a billow of screaming yellow silk. “But enough of that. Here I am boring you with all this talk about yourself, when you must be dying to hear all about me.”

  “Not really,” Tabitha said, still staring glaciers.

  “I’m from Boston, and my father sent me out here last month because he thinks the theater is a scandalous career for a woman,” Cassandra cheerfully began, ignoring the ice. “He’s hoping I’ll marry one of Uncle Angus’s sons, instead. But I don’t like any of Uncle Angus’s sons. They’re all toads. And not the kind you could turn into princes with a kiss either.” She grimaced. “If I kissed any of them, I’d get warts.”

  “So why don’t you go back to Boston.”

  “No.” Mary-Esmeralda-Cassandra pressed her lips into a firm line, her eyes flashing blue fire in the candlelight. “You won’t trick me that easily, Tabitha. I know your game, but it won’t work.” She popped haughtily to her feet, shaking out her negligee like a queen shaking out her robes of state. “And I’m not going to tell you any more about me. You can perish of curiosity, for all I care.” Chin in the air, she billowed out of the alcove and was several catlike steps down the dark passage, when she whirled around and flew back.

  “By the way, speaking of perishing, I’d keep my eye on Alan, if I were you. He may be a murderer,” she said brightly, gazing down at Tabitha’s stunned face with an angelic smile illuminating her own. “A murderer and a widower, to be specific. The two terms go together, you see, because he supposedly killed his wife. Her name was Heather, in case you’re interested.” Still smiling, she turned and drifted into the darkness, like yellow smoke vanishing in a midnight breeze.

  And Tabitha fell, rather than sat, on the nearest stool. Her legs had turned to rubber. She was remembering the story of the original Cassandra and hoping that she hadn’t chosen too appropriate a name for her new acquaintance.

  The first Cassandra had been a princess of Troy during its long ago siege. She had asked for and received the gift of prophecy from Apollo. But she’d also spurned the god’s advances, so he’d turned his blessing into a curse by declaring that no one would ever believe her. To all who heard them, Cassandra’s words sounded like the ravings of a madwoman, yet the poor doomed girl had spoken nothing but the truth.

  Tabitha shook her head, jiggled one knee, then the other. The atmosphere of the castle had suddenly shifted. Before it had seemed a bit eerie, of course, but mostly just impractical and eccentric. Now it felt malignant and menacing.

  She shot a wary glance around the alcove, the flickering glow from her candle making the curved walls appear almost as if they were pulsating. Even her own shadow looked somehow threatening. Steeling herself against a creeping panic, she cautiously rose to her feet, every nerve trembling like a touched fiddle string. Something hit against the hem of her skirt, and the squeal she let out hit high C.

  She was that happy to see him.

  “Hullo, angel, you always appear just when I need you the most, don’t you?” She knelt down to pet the cat. “You’re my little knight in furry armor.”

  He dug his velvety head into her hand, that deep throaty purr of his vibrating like a hive of giant bees.

  “You must know this castle like the back of your paw. Do you think you could show me the way to my room? Not that I really want to go there—I’d rather be far away from this dreadful place—but if I have to be anywhere here, I think my room is the safest. At least there I can lock the door and barricade myself in. Don’t you agree?” She gazed wistfully into his glowing amber eyes.

  The eyes blinked once, and the cat gathered himself into a tight crouch beneath her hand. Like a spring unwinding itself, he shot around her and darted behind the
screen. Tabitha heard a wild scrambling, a muffled woosh, like something large and soft hitting the floor, and then… Complete, breathless quiet.

  “Now what was that all about?” Her voice echoed in the stillness. “Did you hear a mouse?”

  As if in answer, the candle flame flickered frantically for an instant, then wisped out, leaving her in a darkness so dense it almost suffocated her.

  But not quite. From somewhere a breeze was blowing. A draft that hadn’t been there before. Heart pounding, she groped her way toward the source of the moving air—and found not only it, but a bright light in the passageway the cat had uncovered when he’d clawed down the tapestry that had hung behind the Oriental screen. It was rather strange she hadn’t noticed the tapestry before. But then, meeting Mary-Cassandra had been more than a little distracting.

  She stooped to retrieve the light that the red haired distraction must have left behind when she’d entered the alcove—from this direction, apparently. It was one of Simon’s electric lanterns.

  Tabitha stood blinking and puzzling a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the glare and wondering why the catty Cassandra had been there in the first place. It was almost like she’d been waiting for me. And what was she doing with one of Simon’s lamps? Did he present one to every prospective bride who came to Castle MacAllister?

  She heaved a small sigh. This was hardly a concern, considering all else she had to deal with—such as kidnapping, imprisonment, and a murdering fiancée—but it did smell somewhat suspicious.

  Somewhat? The whole fortress and everything in it was beginning to stink like a kettle full of rotten fish!

  Shaking her head, Tabitha glanced down the passage. Her black furred knight was nowhere to be seen, but that was all right, because she recognized where she was now and knew how to get from here to where she was going. She placed the lantern back on the floor and scurried back to her room.

  She was a little breathless by the time she reached it, and more than a little dismayed to find no key in the door’s lock.

  “But I’m sure there was a key here when I left. I should have taken it with me,” she muttered while dragging her trunk several feet across the floor and shoving it up against the door’s base. “No, that won’t work.” Panting with the effort, she pushed it aside and began a determined wresting match with the large mahogany dresser that stood against the wall directly to the right of the door. “Ugh,” she grunted, “this weighs a ton. I defy anyone to get past this monster.”

  “You’re right. We don’t want to be disturbed tonight. But that’s far too heavy for you. Let me do it.” A powerful pair of arms reached around her and slid the dresser into place.

  Tabitha screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Which she sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be joining anytime soon.

  Alan clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Hush.” He laughed softly, close to her ear. “They’ll think I’m murdering you.”

  A poor choice of words, from Tabitha’s standpoint.

  “Argh,” Alan bit out through clenched teeth, as her teeth bit into his fingers. He stared at her with a mixture of surprise, amusement—and something Tabitha didn’t want to think about. “What’s the matter with you, lassie?”

  “N-n-nothing’s the matter with me. Get out of here!” She flew to the far wall, pressing her back against it. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Our room. ’Twas mine, in fact, but now ’tis ours.” He flexed his hand to make sure everything was still adequately connected.

  “Our room?” Tabitha choked, unable to pull her gaze off him. She felt pinned, like a butterfly on a mounting board.

  Alan began a slow, languid approach toward her, looking as though he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “Aye. Husbands and wives often do share the same bed, don’t they?” He paused to remove his collar and vest, then resumed his approach, unfastening his shirt en route.

  Tabitha watched in horrified fascination as more and more of that rock hard, tanned chest came into view. The knowledge that she’d seen it before offered not a whit of comfort. A bare chest had seemed…well, natural on a Comanche. It had been easier to deal with then. Now it seemed somehow improper. Indecent. And nerve-wrackingly sensual. She gulped as the shirt hit the floor. He pulled off his belt, and her knees started to quiver.

  “What difference does it make what husbands and wives do? We’re not m-married,” she strained out, thinking that if he reached for his trousers, she would probably faint.

  “Aye, but we are,” he said. And reached for her, instead.

  Her knees buckled, but she quickly caught herself, swiveled, ducked under his arm, skidded across the floor, and plastered herself against the opposite wall. “We are not! We’re merely engaged.”

  Alan heaved a sigh and turned to face her, the muscles in his torso rippling like burnished copper in the glow from the oil lamp. “Look, dear, according to old Highland law, two people are married simply by saying so in front of witnesses. That’s what you and I did on the ramparts, if you’ll recall. And that makes us man and wife.” Stealthily, he closed the distance between them. “At least, that’s the tradition the MacAllisters follow. And for once in my life”—a sudden grin lit his face—“I find myself most glad to be part of the clan.”

  Pausing two paces away, he raked her with a look that almost set her hair on fire and ordered softly, “Now come here, Tabitha. Stop acting so frightened. What do you think I’m going to do to you, anyway?”

  Gauging by his expression, Tabitha didn’t know. Strangle her? Kiss her? In her current state, all possibilities seemed petrifying and probably fatal. She doubted if she could survive any of them.

  “You…you’re not going to do anything to me.” She dodged sideways and back to her previous wall. “Because I won’t let you get close enough to even try. And I won’t accept this so-called marriage, either. It’s preposterous!”

  “What’s preposterous is the thought of me spending our wedding night chasing you around the room,” Alan said, his rich voice something between a growl and a purr. “Now come here.”

  He took a single step toward her. And waited.

  “Tabitha?” He took a second step, then a third and a fourth, his eyes pulling at her like magnets. “This is your last chance. Don’t make me come get you, lassie. You might be sorry for it when I catch you.”

  “You might be sorry for it, too,” she warned, watching him approach the way a caged canary watches a cat. He moved with an easy feline grace that sent disturbing hot tingles shooting deep into her abdomen. “Whatever you’re planning, I…I won’t make it easy for you.”

  Alan halted in midstep. “And what do you think I’m planning, dear? I can understand a new bride being nervous on her wedding night, but aren’t you being just a wee bit extreme?” He chuckled.

  Infuriated, Tabitha glared into his eyes. A mistake. They nailed her to the wall, sucked the air and the movement straight out of her. She stood transfixed a breathless moment, just long enough for him to cover the last several feet between them, sweep her up into his arms, and toss her into the center of the large four-poster bed.

  “And now, bonny lassie,” his low purr filtered into her daze, “the next question is, are you going to unfasten your gown? Or am I?”

  The bonny lassie snapped alert, only to find herself trapped between the mattress and Alan’s warm, solid, utterly masculine weight. She went rigid beneath him in a desperate attempt to make her recalcitrant body stop wanting to mold itself to his. Closing her eyes didn’t help. She could still feel him, sense the heat of his gaze, feel his breath on her face. He was going to kiss her, and the moment their mouths met, she’d be finished. With a dismayed groan, Tabitha twisted her head to the side, and the kiss landed on the soft spot below her ear instead of her lips.

  “All right, if that’s the way you’d prefer it,” he whispered. “I’m going to taste every inch of you before this night is over, so it makes no difference to me where I start.�
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  He began nibbling his way down the side of her neck. Tabitha caught her breath. Heaven help her, this was not going to be easy to ignore. It grew less easy as kisses smoked over her collarbone, heading south. By the time he reached her cleavage, it was absolutely impossible.

  Gasping for air, she felt her hands moving as though they belonged to someone else. They slid over Alan’s amazing back, across his shoulders, and tangled in his thick hair. In a steamy haze, she realized that somehow her skirts had become bunched up around her thighs, and her legs were twining with his.

  This is impossible, said the small part of her mind that still belonged to her. Tabitha Jeffries does not do things like this.

  But Tabitha hardly heard it. She was too busy listening to the groans of pleasure Alan was making over all those things she was “not” doing.

  The groans rolled into whispered words, throaty and thick with passion. But incomprehensible. What language was that? Scots Gaelic? She didn’t think so. But what else besides English would he speak?

  The answer struck hard. Comanche. She didn’t know why she should recognize the language, but somehow she did. The knowledge came from some nebulous dark spot within her. A chilling realization that slapped her back to her senses.

  Tabitha froze. Really froze. She went stiff and cold as an icicle, while her mind fought for a foothold on slippery slopes. She was trying to give Alan the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t going too well. Yes, the Comanche had been here when Clan MacAllister arrived, so conceivably Alan could have learned some of their language. Aunt Matilda had once employed a Mexican cook from whom Tabitha had learned a little Spanish. But that didn’t make her think she was Spanish.

  Lady Gabrina had said Alan’s parents were Ian and Rowena MacAllister; she’d recited his linage back to the Highland chiefs of Scotland, and no Indians had appeared among the names. Yet he’d been dressed as a Comanche when Tabitha first saw him—and down in the courtyard, he’d told her he was Comanche. And now he was talking like one.

  All of which implied he hadn’t been joking before. She was lying here tangled up in bed with a Scottish madman who evidently did believe he was a Comanche. Who also believed they were married. Who was probably a murderer, too—and who knew what else! It made her almost physically ill.

  Alan must have noticed her state (no doubt it was difficult to miss), and guessed where he’d slipped up. The criminally insane could be devilishly shrewd, she’d heard. He lifted his head to stare at her with a feral intensity that only proved her point about his mental condition. He looked like a wild man. His hair was tousled, and sweat glistened his skin. He panted for breath.

  “Tabitha, I can explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “No. You have to listen. This is something you need to understand.”

  This was unfortunate timing, from his perspective—that much was blaringly obvious to Tabitha, but she didn’t care. She had her own concerns at the moment. Like staying alive and in one piece.

  “I understand already.” She tried to wriggle out from under him.

  He pulled her back. “No, you don’t. Now let me explain. Just five minutes. Then if you still want me to let you go, I will. I promise.”

  “Oh, yes. We know all about your promises, don’t we?”

  “Damn it, lass, listen to me!” he exploded, pinning her wrists to the bed.

  It was the worst possible move he could have made. It blew near panic into terrified berserk. Tabitha shrieked and thrashed like all the fiends of hell were upon her. Hardly surprising, since that’s pretty much what she felt was happening.

  Suddenly having a genuine battle on his hands to quiet her, Alan overlooked one small detail. To watch out for himself. A frantic knee came up and hit him in what was probably the only place that could have stopped him.

  With a groan that had nothing to do with pleasure, he rolled off her and onto his feet, clinging to one of the bedposts for support, while he caught his breath—and a couple of other things that were rather important to him.

  Having no idea what she’d done to prompt such a reaction, Tabitha rolled off on the opposite side of the bed and stood staring in amazement, rapidly replaying her last few moves, trying to figure it out, just in case it was a defense she could use in the future.

  Worry about it later, you nitwit! Get out now, while you can, that inner voice broke into the analysis.

  “Right,” she answered aloud, scurried to the barricaded door, pressed her back against the side of the mahogany dresser, and painstakingly began inching it away. There was an abrupt, scraping whoosh, and she tumbled backward, only to be caught by a pair of strong hands right before denting her gown’s bustle (not to mention what lay behind it) on the hardwood floor.

  “I should have let you hit it,” a low voice growled, as the hands hauled her to her feet.

  “Then why didn’t you?” she said with a tartness that was meant to mask her fear. It didn’t quite manage it. Nor did the aggravated shrug she gave trying to free herself from his hands.

  Alan released her only long enough to grip her by the upper arms and spin her around to face him. “Because I’ve a certain fondness for that part of your anatomy. I’d hate to see it damaged.”

  Trying not to tremble in his angry grip, Tabitha riveted her gaze to the floor.

  “Look at me!” His grip tightened to a point just short of pain.

  Stubbornly, she shook her head, unwilling to trust her voice, not daring to meet his eyes. The man did have some sort of Svengali quality; she hadn’t imagined it down in the courtyard. He had been mesmerizing or hypnotizing her, or some such thing. That’s how he’d managed to transfix her before. That’s why she’d been behaving so oddly, doing things she never would have dreamed of on her own. He was more devious than she had realized. And a lot more dangerous. An icy prickle crept over her flesh.

  The worst of it was she seemed to be so powerless against him. It was horrible to feel so vulnerable. And infuriating not to be able to hide her fear any better than this. She groaned inwardly as an uncontrollable shivering took her over.

  Alan pulled her into a warm hug. “Tabitha, you have got to stop this.” He sighed, his tone suddenly quiet, almost tender. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I can’t have my wife too terrified to even look at me. What kind of a marriage would that be?”

  She nearly strangled on a surge of hysterical laughter. “I’m not your wife and this isn’t a real marriage!” she gasped against his chest, as the icy shivers began turning hot.

  “It is, and you are. But I’ll not stand here arguing that now.” Swinging her up into his arms, he strode for the bed. “You’ve just got a bad case of the wedding night jitters. And I know the cure.”

  Tabitha gasped again as she landed with a bounce on the mattress. Before she could draw breath, she was pinned, her arms held immobile over her head and both her legs locked beneath one of his. She went stiff as a statue, and blind as one, too, shutting her eyes against the danger in his. But there was no way to shut her ears against the soothing deep purr of his voice. That was one of the most maddening things of all, that the one who tormented her should also be the one trying to comfort and calm.

  “Easy, lass, you’re safe.” Alan planted a light kiss on the corner of her trembling mouth. He followed it with a matching one on the other side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, letting his lips trail along her jaw line.

  She groaned as he nibbled her earlobe, sending an electric tingle all the way down to her toes.

  “You have to relax now, dear, because we’re going to finish what we started before. I’ll take it very slow, and you’ll see there’s nothing to be frightened of,” he whispered against her throat. “Men and women do this every day, and I’ve never known anyone yet to die from it.”

  There’s always a first time.

  Tabitha moaned, as he laid a row of soft, smoky kisses down one side of her neck and started working his way up the other. H
er body’s response was rapidly moving beyond the boundaries of her mind’s control. If she couldn’t halt this soon, she wouldn’t even want to.

  “Alan,” she rasped in a frazzled effort to make him take his lips off her for a moment, so she could think.

  “What, dear?” he asked against the top of her shoulder.

  Damn him. How could he kiss and talk at the same time?

  “You…” She ransacked her brain for words that would make him stop. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing.”

  “Aye, a bit.” He released her hands so his would be free for other activities. Her heart skipped several beats as he began doing them.

  Oh, God, do I dare? It might tip him into a homicidal rage.

  Alan started to hoist her skirts, and she took the chance.

  “Is…is it because Heather had the jitters, too?”

  His whole body froze, and she pressed home the advantage, raising her lids at last and staring hard up at him. “What happened to her? How did your wife die?” Her voice sounded like ice, but not as chilling as Alan’s when his answer finally came.

  “She was stripped, beaten, and staked to an ant hill.” He returned her stare through eyes that had become blazing amber slits. “Any other questions?”

  “Yes.” Tabitha fought down a violent wave of nausea. “Did…did you kill her?”

  The man never moved, never even blinked. He might have been carved from stone.

  “Aye. I’m responsible.”

  Suddenly the room was empty of air, and the bed was tilting like a drunken cork bobbing about in the ocean. Alan’s face swam dizzily above her; she couldn’t tell where the rest of him was. Everything was fuzzy…dim…dark…and growing darker. She grappled with it a wild moment—then gave up and sank deep into the blackness.

  When she rose to the surface again—how much later, she had no idea—the room was still dim, but only because the oil lamp had been turned down to a tiny, hazy glimmer. Her mind felt equally hazy. She was still in bed, under the covers this time, but these weren’t the cotton sheets she’d slept on the night before. These were…satin? What a ridiculous extravagance. Inwardly shaking her head, she glanced down at them, sat bolt upright, and let out a shriek that rattled the rafters in the room’s vaulted ceiling.

  “My clothes are gone!”

  “Hush. I had to loosen your corset after you fainted,” came a low purr from just south of the bed. “And once I’d gotten that far, I decided I might as well finish the job.”

  Tabitha snatched the top sheet all the way up to her chin, glared across at Alan…

  And shrieked again.

  “This is becoming a wee bit monotonous.” He strolled around to the empty side of the bed, turned the lamp up a fraction, and gazed calmly down at her. “You know, dear, it doesn’t do much for a man’s self-image when a woman screams the first time she sees him minus his trousers.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” she flustered out, suddenly remembering why she had fainted in the first place. He was a wife murderer. And he viewed her as his current wife. And—

  Keep him talking!

  “I…I didn’t mean… It’s just…just that you startled me. I’ve never seen a man completely un…undressed before.”

  “Oh well, in that case, I forgive you.”

  Obliging, wasn’t he?

  The mattress sloped as he sat down beside her.

  Ripping the top sheet out from under him, she hastily wound it around herself and started scooting as far away as she could get. A warm hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could slip to the floor.

  “You’re going the wrong way, lassie. I’m over here.” He tugged on the wrist to draw her closer.

  She latched on to the nearest bedpost with her free hand and held on for dear life. A crowbar couldn’t have pried her loose.

  But Alan managed it anyway. One stiff yank, and she was sliding across the slippery satin and staring, with a sort of glazed fascination, at the broken piece of bedpost clutched in her white knuckled fist.

  A club?

  His eyes must have read the expression in hers. The post went sailing through the air, bounced once as it struck the floor, and rolled under the dresser.

  “Don’t worry about it, dear. I’ll have it mended later,” Alan said, in response to the dismayed look on her face. “Now come here. There’s something I want to tell you.”

  I’ll bet it’s something I don’t want to hear, Tabitha thought, and countered with a quick, “Actually, that’s not true what I said before. You’re not the first nude man I’ve seen.”

  The grip on her wrist hardened, and his eyes darkened with suspicion. “Another surprise, Tabitha?”

  “I…I’ve seen pictures of Michelangelo’s David,” she admitted weakly.

  A small grin began twitching the corners of his mouth. “Oh? And how do you think I compare?”

  A hell of a lot better, she realized—gulp—and changed the subject again.

  Or tried to. His arm snaked around her waist, hoisting her over and onto his lap before she could utter another word.

  “That’s better. But don’t you find this sheet a bit constricting? I know I do,” he said, casually inching the satin away from her breasts.

  She caught her breath and the sheet at the same time, yanking the latter away from him and clutching it frantically against herself.

  “You are a Nervous Nellie, aren’t you? I’d have thought you’d be getting at least a little used to me by now.” Alan sighed and tightened his embrace, as though that would still the trembling that had overtaken her. It increased it, in fact, making him sigh again and tuck her head against his shoulder.

  “Listen, lass, I do appreciate why you’ve been frightened of me. But you can’t possibly understand the whole story, and you’ve given me no chance to explain it.”

  “So, explain now!” She tried to push away.

  He cradled her closer.

  Tabitha broke off the fight. Struggling didn’t help, she was beginning to realize. It only made her more aware of that masculine form pressing against her. Of course, not struggling didn’t work either. There was simply no way to block the feel of his hot raw energy wrapping around her, holding her fast. She suddenly had a great empathy for all the little creatures who’d ever been snared in a spider’s silken web.

  “Another time. I’m hardly in the mood to discuss it at present,” Alan answered her. “I only want to point out that if I wanted to harm you, I’ve had ample opportunity to do it before now.” His hand traced the length of her bare arm, stroking from the wrist to the elbow, elbow to shoulder, and over the shoulder till it tangled in the long locks at the nape of her neck.

  “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make love to you,” he whispered.

  What’s the difference? The one would end her life, but the other would end everything that made her life worth living.

  “You’re only frightened because this is your first time. Would it set your mind at rest if I told you what to expect?” Alan offered, sounding almost fatherly.

  His tone set her teeth on edge. “Good heavens, I’m not a child. And I have an extensive background in science—including biology! I fully understand the human reproductive system and how it functions,” she grumbled into his neck.

  “I’m relieved to hear that. It makes things so much easier if we both know what goes where.” He chuckled. And instantly had to tighten his hold again as she tried to lunge away.

  One hand still buried in her hair, he pulled her head back to meet his eyes. Before she had time to resist, she was trapped, drowning once more in those smoldering amber pools.

  “Tabitha, what is the problem? I’ve been most patient with you so far, but I am fast reaching the end of my tether. I don’t want to force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, but if you can’t give me a good reason for all this fuss, I may end up doing just that.”

  The threat snapped something awake inside of her. Sudden outrage and indignation ga
ve her the strength to tear free from his gaze.

  “I’ll give you at least three. Number one, regardless of how you view this mock marriage, I do not consider it valid. And I was raised to believe that intimate relations between unmarried people are wrong. Number two, even if none of that were the case, I simply do not want to be married. I have a life already that I am very satisfied with. A life that does not include domestic servitude, men, or children. I have other plans for myself. Important plans!”

  “Don’t let Uncle Angus hear you say that,” Alan blithely broke into the tirade. “He’s expecting a new heir nine months from tonight.”

  “To hell with Uncle Angus, and to hell with you!” With a violent twist, she threw herself off him, landing face up on the other side of the bed, her sheet torn half away, exposing her to the hips.

  She grabbed for it, but not fast enough. His weight was upon her—hot and heavy, skin to skin—holding her flat on the mattress before she could blink or gasp. The indescribable raw force of his naked torso molded to hers drove all reason from her head.

  Alan gave a thick groan and buried his face against her neck for several choppy heartbeats, as temperatures spiked and pulses began to climb skywards.

  “That’s only two reasons,” he panted out. “What’s the third?”

  Tabitha had no idea. “Um…I…ah…” She fumbled for words, dizzily trying to rake her wits together.

  He braced up on an elbow to search her eyes—a look that drilled deep into her core, opening an aching void within her that demanded to be filled.

  “Never mind. It can’t make any difference,” he said hoarsely. “None of your reasons can stand against this one.”

  A sharp tug tore the rest of the sheet from between them. A hungry mouth claimed hers…

  “Alan! Y’awake, lad? You’re needed!”

  The shout was accompanied by the banging inward of the door, and brought a blast of curses from the bed that would have blistered a better man than Dunstan MacAllister. Or a smarter man, anyway.

  “Have you forgotten how to knock, you half-witted Scottish buffalo?” Alan sprang off the mattress like a cougar about to pounce.

  Dunstan slouched lazily in the doorway, a stupid grin pulling his thick features into a lopsided caricature of contrition. “Sorry, cousin. I reckoned you’d be finished with the lass. Hell, you’ve been in here lang enoof. I coulda serviced her ten times o’er by now.” He glanced at the bed where Tabitha was frantically rewrapping the satin sheet about herself. “Perhaps nay, though. She’s a bit scrawny for my tastes.” He frowned slightly, then the grin twisted itself back into place. “Ah well, breedin’ and nursin’ bairns’ll fatten her oop.”

  Tabitha turned pink, then red, then scarlet.

  And Dunstan turned an amazing shade of chartreuse as Alan, with thumb and forefinger, jerked him to his toes and jammed him hard against the wall by his nostrils.

  “What are you here for, Dumbstan?” He skewered him on a lethal look before letting him drop.

  “Ow. Dinna be mad at me, laddie, I’m just the messenger,” the beefy blond grumbled nasally, rubbing his swollen nose. “You’re wanted in the yard. ’Tis Mary.”

  Alan let out a deep, gut-wrenching groan. “I’m going to ship that little lunatic back to Boston on a mule train. What’s her folly now?”

  “She’s climbed oot on the ledge o’ the wizards’ tower and promises tae jump if you dinna come,” Dunstan said, as Alan yanked his clothes back on.

  “Why can’t one of you get her down?” He fastened his trousers with a slight wince. “Haul her in through the window above, or use a ladder. Don’t tell me you’re all afraid of one moon-mazed lassie!”

  “Aye, when she’s got a loaded revolver, we are. Malcolm did try the ladder, though. She waited till he was nearly oop, then gave it a stout kick.” He paused a moment to scratch under his arm. “Molly says ’tis a good, clean break, his leg ought tae heal.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Alan said, as though glad was the last thing he was. “How the devil did she get a revolver?”

  “How should I ken? She’s a witch maybe.” Dunstan shrugged, blinking at Alan through bloodshot eyes. “You comin’ or ain’t you?” The eyes flashed to Tabitha, huddled small against the large bed’s headboard. “I can keep the bonny bride amused whilst you’re gang,” he offered with a leer that curdled her blood.

  “You can find yourself flayed and staked out on the prairie, too,” Alan said, with a grin that curdled Dunstan’s. “Wait for me in the yard. I’ll be there directly.”

  He watched until his cousin had lumbered sulkily out of sight, then swung about, snatched Tabitha’s clothes off a chair, jammed them into her trunk on top of the others, slammed the lid down, turned the trunk’s key with a vicious twist, tore it out of the lock, and shoved it into his boot.

  “Just making sure you won’t want to go anywhere while I’m gone.” He stalked to the bed and nailed her to the headboard with an iron glare. “When I return, I expect to find you exactly where I left you. This night is not over for us yet, lassie. As far as I’m concerned, it hasn’t even begun. Now come here.”

  She couldn’t. Fury radiated off him like heat waves, paralyzing her. She’d seen him angry before, but not like this. This was a real temper. It was suddenly too easy to imagine him killing someone.

  She gave her head a little shake, simply because that was the only response she could manage, but it seemed to infuriate Alan even more. A snarl on his lips, he reached forward and hauled her into his arms, capturing her mouth, kissing her as though he’d devour her in one bite.

  It rocked her like a volcanic eruption, turned her blood into molten lava and her breath into steam—swept through her like a firestorm, burning away resistance, leaving nothing in its wake but a deep, driving, devastating need.

  “There, that should hold you for a bit!” Abruptly, he released her.

  She landed on the mattress in a shower of electric sparks and lay there gasping, staring at him through a red-hot haze as he strode for the door.

  “I’ll be back,” he flung over his shoulder. And then he was gone.

  And she was alone with a quivering, unquenchable desire… And a shivering, unspeakable fear.