An Invitation to Pleasure

by Marguerite Kaye

  Once again, she did as she was bid, and was rewarded by a beaming smile from the girl, and a great cheer. Fergus made a sweepingly theatrical bow. From the doorway, a pair of bagpipes gave their warning groan before bursting into a skirl, and Fergus scooped Susanna up into his arms, leading the way to their bedchamber.

  Chapter Five

  Fergus leant against the door, clutching Susanna’s shoes, her stockings draped around his neck. In the corridor, the skirl of the pipes was replaced by raucous singing. It was as well they sang in the Gaelic, though judging from her expression Susanna had a very clear notion of its bawdy content. She was laughing as she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Is it over, or are they going to burst in and strew us with—I don’t know—herbs to encourage potency?’

  ‘Dear God, I hope not. I assure you, I need no encouragement. Since you arrived here at Kilmun, I have been made aware of my potency on a daily basis.’

  ‘I am sure you meant that as a complement, but let me tell you, Laird, it is not one fit for a lady’s ears. What’s more, I am very sure that any lady—with the appropriately curved rear, of course—would have the same effect on you as I do.’

  She had a way of blushing and smiling provocatively at the same time which he adored, all the more so because he knew that her delight in teasing him was something new. As it was for him, too. He had started it as part of their game of flirting publicly, but it had become a habit he did not want to break.

  Her hair was escaping from its pins. At night, it spread across the pillows, over the bolster that separated them. It smelled of flowers, and it tickled his nose. He took a long tendril, winding it around his finger. ‘For nigh on two years after the wars, I was in no fit state to look at any woman. To tell the truth, I thought I’d lost interest for good until I set eyes on you, all dark hair and red mouth and grey eyes, on the pier at Kilmun village.’ Susanna looked as surprised as he felt at this confession. It was the truth, but he had no idea why he’d told her.

  He unwound her curl from his finger and made to get up when she caught his hand. ‘Until I came here, I was fairly certain I had no such feelings either,’ Susanna whispered. ‘Do you think the wanting is stronger for having been asleep so long, Fergus?’

  ‘It’s an idea. Like a creature who has slept the winter over, and worked up an appetite, you mean?’

  Susanna’s laugh had a breathy quality that made his own breathing quicken. ‘When I’m lying on this bed, with that horrible plank of wood between us, I sometimes feel as though I’ve been feasting my eyes all day on a banquet I’m not allowed to eat.’

  ‘When I was washing your feet, I wanted to lick them dry, but I fear that would have been a step too far for our audience. If you’ll forgive the pun.’

  ‘They still smell of claret.’

  ‘Most likely they taste of it too. It was the very best claret, I’ll have you know. I wonder if it travels well.’

  Before she could ask him what he meant, Fergus dropped to his knees before her for the second time that night, and did what he had wanted to do the first time, cupping one of her slender feet in his hand, and sucking on her toe. He was rewarded with one of those telling intakes of breath, and with a widening of those speaking grey eyes of hers. He licked his way along each of her toes, then sucked his way back.

  ‘And does it?’ she asked. ‘Travel well?’

  ‘I’ll need to make sure.’ He picked up her other foot, licking each of the toes before kissing his way up to her ankle to the fluttering pulse there. Susanna slumped back on the bed with a soft sigh, and Fergus continued kissing, up her calf, to her knee, his hand following the same route on her other leg. Her petticoats rustled seductively as he pushed them aside to expose the lacy edge of her pantalettes. The salty, vanilla scent of her arousal was as unmistakable as his own urge to keep kissing his way up, until he could taste her.

  He hesitated, stroking the soft flesh of her thigh through the thin linen of her undergarments. Susanna gave another of those unbearably erotic little moans, stirring restlessly beneath him. Her pupils were enlarged. Her face was flushed. All these days spent in what seemed like a perpetual state of arousal, nights spent in aching frustration, were suddenly too much to bear. Fergus pushed up her skirts, he parted the legs of her pantalettes, cupped her bottom to tilt her towards his mouth. There was, after all, more than one way to heaven.

  Susanna cried out in surprise, then cried out in pleasure as Fergus kissed the soft flesh at the tops of her thighs. Then the creases at the tops of her legs. And then inside her. A slow, languorous lick it was, parting her, and then another, sliding up and over the swelling nub of her. She shivered, her muscles tensed, heat pooling between her legs.

  Fergus licked again, and she felt the familiar tightening, save that it was not at all familiar because it was much more, a stronger, deep pull. So quickly. And so much. It was not at all what she was accustomed to. She tried to think, to hold on, to hold back, to prolong. Not yet, she thought, as he licked again. And then he kissed her. Or suckled her. She did not know what he was doing, but she lost the power to concentrate because what he was doing was so, so, so…

  Hot, wet, tight, she felt. She could hear his breathing, ragged. His fingers dug in to the flesh of her bottom, holding her when she arched and bucked, wanting more, wanting to wait, wanting more. She moaned. He did something else with his tongue, a swirling and licking at the same time, she could feel herself tightening, tightening, and tried to clench hold, and he stopped as she cried out, and she heard his low laugh of triumph as he licked her again, there, in precisely the right place, and she climaxed, wave after wave pulsing through her. She clutched at the sheets, at his hair, at his shoulders, pulling him up towards her, thrusting herself unashamedly at him.

  He kissed her mouth. She tasted herself on his lips and wrapped her arms and legs around him. She could feel the hard length of his erection through his trews, against the damp between her legs. He still had all his clothes on. What’s more, so did she. What were they doing?

  What was he doing! Fergus hesitated, breathing heavily. This, this woman, what she did to him, it was too much. Too good. She was too good for him. Much as he wanted her, what he wanted more was to let her live the life she had set her heart on. He cursed. His timing could have been a hell of a lot better! It took every ounce of resolution, but he rolled away from her. ‘No,’ he said, more to himself than Susanna. ‘No.’

  * * *

  The next day, which was Christmas Eve, saw the lighting of the Yule log in the great hall, where the Clootie dumpling was served to the castle’s servants. Custom demanded that the laird and his lady do the waiting, a practice which Susanna took seriously, descending to Mrs MacDonald’s domain to lend what assistance she could.

  In the kitchens, she rolled up the sleeves of her Turkey-red gown and threw herself into the cooking and setting out of the night’s feast. This was much to the cook’s surprise and she unwittingly earned herself the approval of the household, who had naturally been suspicious of a London lady likely to think herself above getting her hands dirty. Though the gruff man in charge of the household laughed at her attempts to pronounce the Gaelic, he did not mock her, and the arduous hours of work had the benefit of distracting her from thoughts of the night before. Until she stood, smiling and tired, by Fergus’s side in the great hall, as their health was drunk.

  ‘Mrs MacDonald has nothing but good words to say of you,’ Fergus said, slipping an arm around her waist. ‘I did wonder though, if you worked so hard in those kitchens of hers in order to avoid me?’

  She could not look at him. An image of herself, crying out in abandon beneath him, flashed into her mind. Fergus brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her temple. ‘No need to answer. Your silence speaks volumes.’

  She shook her head helplessly and caught his hand in hers. His knuckles were scored with small cuts from hacking away the brambles which had been growing around the tree which became the Yule log. She kissed them and slipped away
up the stairs, leaving Fergus to socialise and, more importantly, ensure that the whisky did not run dry before the men did.

  Susanna lay awake with the bed curtains open, a candle burning low on the night table at the side of the bed. Sick of the bundling board, yet unwilling to cause an uproar by removing it, she had wrapped one of her shawls around it, and covered it with a bolster. When Fergus entered the room, she feigned sleep.

  He stood over her for a long moment, looking down, then set about undressing. She watched from between her lashes as he shrugged out of his coat, then sat by the fireside to pull off his boots and stockings. His waistcoat and stock came next. Then his shirt, tugged free from his trews and pulled over his head. His torso was pale compared to the tan of his arms and throat. As he stretched his hands over his head and rolled his shoulders, his muscles rippled. She must have made a sound, for he froze. ‘Did I wake you?’ The mattress sagged as he sat on the edge of it.

  Susanna pushed herself up. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  He flashed a smile. ‘Tell me about it.’

  She plucked at the scalloped embroidery which edged the sheet. ‘Fergus, do you regret last night?’

  ‘I wish I could say I did, but if I’m honest I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Susanna began to tug at a loose thread. ‘Fergus, why did you stop?’

  ‘Because I knew I would regret it. No, not the way you think.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Since we’re being very honest, I’ll tell you now that I asked you to stay here in the hopes of changing your mind.’

  ‘Change my—you mean make me marry you?’

  ‘Not make you. It was just that I had it in my head—och, I don’t know if I can explain. After Waterloo, when I was lying wounded in that field hospital, plotting my revenge on Mountjoy kept me alive. I wasn’t right in my head that day I visited you, though I thought I was. I suppose being at war for nigh on ten years takes its toll on the mind as well as the body. Anyway, I blamed Mountjoy because I had to blame someone, and he made it easy for me, being such a callous bastard. I knew the moment you slammed that drawing room door in my face that I’d made a huge mistake, and for the best part of the past three years I’ve been wishing it undone. When I read his death notice, it was like the answer to my prayers. Finally, I’d get to make it up to you.’

  ‘Had you not called that day, I’d have married Jason in complete ignorance. It would have taken me longer to discover his true nature and his true feelings for me—or lack of them—and perhaps I would have tried harder to be the wife I thought he wanted for longer. You saved me from wasting my time. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him what became of the child—Maria’s child, the woman you told me of—do you know, he laughed. “What do I care about one more little bastard,” he said. And even after I had traced them, he was not relieved, but furious. I grew up that day, Fergus, and I’ve been growing ever since. You are not responsible for ruining my life, far from it.’

  Fergus eyed her in astonishment. ‘You found Maria? You mean you sought out Mountjoy’s mistress and child?’

  ‘I did, and I took care of them. If you had not informed me of their existence, I hate to think what would have happened to them. So you see, you played your part in saving them.’

  This was pushing it much too far for Fergus. ‘I did no such thing. All I was interested in was ruining Mountjoy.’

  ‘Well, he ruined himself in the end.’

  ‘But he did not ruin you.’ Fergus leaned over to touch her cheek. ‘I can see that. I do see that. And that’s why I stopped last night. I wanted you to stay here so I could persuade you to marry me, but I realise now that I know you, that I’m the last thing you need. You’ve made a far better fist of the hand life has dealt you than I, Susanna.’

  ‘Rubbish. I simply had to come to terms with a drunken libertine of a husband, while you— I cannot imagine what you suffered during the wars. If you do not remember the state you were in that day, I certainly do. You were like a ghost of yourself. I was astonished when I met you again. I did not expect you to recover so completely. Our acquaintance has been only a few weeks, but I only have to look at the way your tenants behave towards you. You’re loyal and you’re hard-working and you’re honest and you’re fair. You’re a good laird, Fergus, I have no doubt you were an excellent captain. You have made a very good hand indeed of the cards life has dealt you.’

  Fergus shrugged. Touched as he was by her defence of him, he was a man accustomed to giving orders rather than receiving praise. Maybe what she said made sense, maybe not, but he was too tired to deal with it right now. ‘What I wanted to say was that we should forget all about that stupid idea of mine for us to marry, and make the most of this last week of your visit.’ He leaned over to touch her cheek again. ‘You’re a fine woman, Susanna. Too fine for me.’

  ‘If I wanted a husband, Fergus, I could not do finer than you. But I do not. Now shut up and come to bed.’

  He laughed at that. ‘An invitation I cannot resist. You should thank the lord for that bloody board, for you are quite adorable.’

  She made a strange little sound he could not understand. Until he blew out the candle and climbed into bed after discarding his trews. Instead of splintery wood, there was something soft between them. His palm flattened over soft pillow and something silky underneath. ‘Susanna?’

  ‘I was sick of getting splinters. Skelfs.’ She leaned over to press a kiss to his temple. ‘Go to sleep, Fergus.’

  He pulled her over towards him, flattening her palm on his belly. ‘I love the way your hair tickles my nose,’ he mumbled. And then he slept.

  Susanna lay awake, feeling the quiet rhythm of Fergus’s breathing reverberate on the skin of her palm. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. A week after that was Hogmanay, and somehow they would have to persuade all the Kilmun villagers and tenants, and all Fergus’s neighbours, that they had fallen out, with no hope of making it up. She wouldn’t see Fergus again after that. The new year would be the beginning of her new life, whatever that was. It was true, the beauty of this little village had captured her heart, but there were many other little villages in England equally beautiful in which she could live. Once Jason’s estate was settled, there would be enough for a cottage, so the lawyer said. Other villages where she could help build a school, just as Fergus planned. And though they would not have anyone like Fergus in them, there would be other friends to make. She did not want a husband. She most certainly did not need a husband. This lust, passion, desire, wanting, whatever it was, that existed between her and Fergus, it was a product of the circumstances, merely. Though it felt so real, it would pass.

  He was soundly asleep now. She ran her hand over his torso. Rough hair, smooth skin, the line of a scar. The dip of his belly. The indent of his navel. She hesitated, then ventured further down. Rougher hair. The silky skin of his shaft becoming smoother as her touch roused him. Her fingers curled around him. She felt the pulse of his blood as he thickened in her hold, felt the answering throb between her thighs as she imagined him inside her. She stroked him, and with her other hand, cupped herself. Hot and wet. It would not take much to bring her to a climax. She imagined him, sinking into her, thrusting. She ached. But she would not take what he had made it clear he did not want to give. With a sigh, she let him go and turned her back. He sighed in his sleep, and snaked his hands around her waist. The hard length of him nestled into the curve of her bottom. It was Susanna’s turn to sigh as she fell, eventually, into slumber.

  Chapter Six

  Christmas day was cold and bright, the sky a wide icy-blue, the distant mountains melding with the wispy white clouds. The soft shush of the waves on the pebbled shores of Loch Fyne were peaceful, the creels stacked neatly on the jetty, the nets limp on the drying lines, for no one worked this day. They walked to church at the head of the procession from Castle Kilmun, the laird and his lady at the head of their household. Susanna wore a half pelisse over a promenade dres
s of emerald green with rucked sleeves, French trimming and a winged collar. The high crown of her bonnet was trimmed with an ostrich feather in the same shade as her gown, and her hair had for once obediently allowed itself to be pinned and curled just as she wanted it.

  Fergus was wearing the kilt, the tightly pleated plaid held together with a large leather belt and silver buckle into which was tucked a sheathed dagger with a chased silver handle. His hose were also plaid, and he wore another larger plaid over his short jacket, the filleadh mòr, which served as a cloak when unfolded. Today, it was formally pleated over his shoulder and kept in place with a jewelled pin. The plaid swung out behind him when he walked, showing off tantalising glimpses of muscled thigh. Though most of the men wore similar clothes, Fergus’s were clearly superior, and to Susanna’s eyes, the laird had by far the better physique.

  Her first glimpse of him as a slightly wild, slightly rough Highlander had been wholly unexpected and utterly beguiling. Fergus had a natural authority, but with the traditional Scottish dress, he seemed also to have donned his heritage. He looked every bit the proud Highland laird, as natural a part of the landscape as the majestic peaks in the distance. ‘I feel I should curtsey before you, Laird Kilmun,’ she said lightly, for she was feeling just a little overawed.

  ‘Does the sight of my manly calf please you, my lady?’

  ‘The trouble is that I suspect it pleases every one of the ladies,’ Susanna told him tartly, for she had already intercepted several admiring glances from village women.

  Fergus grinned. ‘Then in that we are equal, for I know the eyes of all the men will be upon you.’