The Laird Who Loved Me

  “I’m to find a ‘magic harp,’ then, which is really . . . ?”

  “There will be a real harp in the music ensemble playing for the ball. Lady Kinloss told me about it.”

  His air of suspicion increased. “That’s it?”

  “Just be sure you don’t trip on your skirts.”

  He didn’t move, his expression arrested. “Skirts?”

  “That’s part of the task. The hero donned a costume, in this case a woman’s gown. You’re to come to the costume ball in skirts.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You would make a fool of me.”

  “And you didn’t hope to do the same by sending me to Lord Dingwall’s? You wanted me to return muddied and horse-bitten and—”

  “Fine,” he said grimly. “Then your last task shall be just as difficult. At one point in your fanciful story, Olwen disrobed and swam in the fountain to distract a group of marauders intent on capturing her beloved. You will do that for me.”

  “At the party! I would be ruined!”

  “I didn’t suggest you do so at the party, though that is tempting. No, this last task is for me and me alone. If I’m to take you to mistress, I wish to see you beforehand.”

  She shivered at the way his gaze scoured her, as if she were already naked. “I … I could get caught.”

  His smile turned wicked. “You suggested we choose our tasks from that damned book. Well, I did. You will swim naked for me, or I win.”

  Her hands fisted, blood pounding through her at his dismissive tone. “Fine! I’ll do it!” She would, too. It wouldn’t be that bad, as long as no one knew. “I’ll do it late at night, after midnight.”

  He shrugged. “You may do it whenever you wish, but you’ll do it. You like to pretend that you’re braver than you are, but we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “At least I’m a person of my word, unlike you.”

  His smile faded. “What are you talking about?”

  “We agreed not to tell the other guests about our wager, and you told the duchess!”

  “I did not.”

  “She said you did—and I certainly didn’t tell her about it.”

  “Neither did I. I don’t know how she came to find out, but it wasn’t from me.”

  Caitlyn glared at him. “Just admit it. I know you two are—” She couldn’t get the words from between her lips.

  His brows snapped down. “My business is no concern of yours.”

  Oh! He couldn’t even deny it! “Once these tasks are finished, I’ll look forward to never seeing you again!”

  “Once this wager is done, you’ll see a lot of me—for I shall keep you abed for the entire two weeks, except when I dress you in lingerie and have you parade before my friends.”

  Caitlyn gasped. “You’d do no such thing!”

  “Wouldn’t I? For two weeks you will belong to me, body and soul.” His voice was so low and warm that he almost purred. “And you may be right—perhaps I wouldn’t parade you before my friends. In fact, I may not give you permission to rise from my bed at all.”

  Caitlyn lifted her chin and glared at him, even as she felt a surprising flare of excited anticipation. She wanted more of MacLean, but not like this. “When and if I decide to take our … physicality further, I will do it under my own terms and no one else’s.”

  His jaw tightened, and in the distance, a low rumble of thunder told her she’d scored a hit.

  “You’re sadly mistaken if you think you’re going to have a say in that matter,” he snapped, every line of his body stiff with anger. Outside, the shutters banged against the house as an ominous wind rose.

  She cast a glance toward the duchess and found the woman watching them, a pleased smile on her face. Caitlyn forced herself to return the smile. The duchess could smirk all she wanted; MacLean wasn’t with her now. He was with Caitlyn, his entire attention focused on her even though he was angry. She liked his attention on her and no one else, liked it a bit too much, in fact.

  Somehow as the days had passed, she’d changed her mind about what she wanted from MacLean and hadn’t even realized it. She no longer wished to prove herself; instead she wanted MacLean’s respect and admiration. How could she gain that from him when his final task—to swim naked before him—robbed her of those very things? How could she win the contest if she lost the real prize—his respect?

  He bowed, his expression icy. “I’ll bring the bow to breakfast in the morning. As to the rest of the contest, we are set. Do you agree?”

  “I don’t like the task you’ve set before me.”

  He gave her a dark smile. “I know.” With that, he turned and left.

  Blast it, she’d have to find a way to complete his final task in a manner that allowed her to maintain her dignity. But how?

  Aware of Georgiana’s pointed stare, Caitlyn turned and joined the other guests.

  Chapter 18

  Sometime in yer life, ye’ll have to tell yerself no to something ye may want more than life itself. Tha’ is when the women are separated fra’ the bairns.

  OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

  As Caitlyn crossed the salon, Lady Elizabeth approached asking about Lord Dingwall’s biting horse. Apparently he’d been telling tales, enthroned on a settee on the far side of the room, and Sally and Honoria were laughing at his description of how Caitlyn had made her way into his house.

  Caitlyn managed to answer all of Lady Elizabeth’s questions, but it was nearly half an hour before she could escape. She bade Dingwall good-bye, pleading fatigue after her adventures. The old man surprised her with a resounding kiss on the cheek and made her promise to come and see him. She did so with pleasure, and was rewarded with a fond smile.

  Then Caitlyn finally made her way out of the room. She had just reached the landing when the sound of feet behind her made her pause. Had Alexander come to explain his cool reception this evening? Or— “Oh. Lord Dervishton.”

  Dervishton’s gaze narrowed. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “No, no. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you retiring, too?”

  “I saw you leave and couldn’t allow you to do so without an escort.” He took her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, his eyes bright. “You appeared a bit bereft this evening. I take it that MacLean has finally shown his true colors?”

  She stiffened. “I don’t wish to discuss anything about MacLean, my lord.”

  “Of course you don’t, but please, just hear me out.” He still held her hand, his fingers dry and warm over hers. “Miss Hurst—Caitlyn—if I can be of any service to you, please just say the word. I have a carriage here, and if you’d like, I can whisk you away without the slightest effort.”

  She frowned. “Lord Dervishton, it’s most improper for you to offer such a thing.”

  He smiled and shrugged. “Who is to say what’s proper and what isn’t? I saw your face when MacLean rejected you, and I wished to offer you my protection.”

  “Your … protection?”

  He placed her hand on his heart, his eyes warm. “Caitlyn, you must have noticed how I feel about you. I am enamored. In fact, I very well may be in love with you.”

  “Lord Dervishton, please . . .” It was agony hearing words from one man’s lips that she desperately wished to hear from another’s. The realization made her heart sink even lower. She wanted Alexander MacLean to declare himself to her. She wanted his love, and nothing else. Good God, when had that happened?

  Heartened by her silence, Dervishton pressed forward. “Caitlyn, I am not a man of means. In fact, I came to this house party hoping to find a wealthy wife. But then I saw you, and—” He pressed a hot kiss to her fingers once again.

  Caitlyn snatched her fingers back. “Lord Dervishton, please! I . . . I deeply appreciate the sentiment, but—”

  He kissed her. One moment they were speaking on the landing, and the next he had her against the wall, his arms wrapped about her, holding her until she couldn’t b
reathe.

  She fought against him, pressing her hands against his chest, and turning her head to one side to no avail. “Let—me—go!” she said, fighting for air to scream, to seek help, to do something.

  He increased his efforts, murmuring against her mouth, “You will be mine. You will—”

  A huge crash of thunder shook the house. A shadow blacked out the light, then Caitlyn was freed as suddenly as she’d been captured.

  Alexander’s face was contorted with fury and another crash of thunder shook the ground, louder and closer than before.

  Dervishton, shoved aside, looked as angry as MacLean. “You have no right to interfere!”

  MacLean gave him a dismissive glance before he turned to Caitlyn. “Go to your room.”

  “But I—”

  His eyes blazed with an unusual light, the green seeming to swirl. Thunder rumbled across the house, shaking each window. Lightning dazzled her eyes as the wind slammed into the house and rattled every shutter.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Georgiana shrilly called for MacLean.

  “Damn it, Caitlyn!” she snapped. “You look a mess. Go to your room!”

  A mess? What sort of man would say such a— Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the landing. Her hair had fallen from its pins, her lips were bruised and swollen. If Georgiana or anyone else saw her—

  That white-hot gaze landed on her again. “Go! Now!”

  She picked up her skirts and ran, reaching her room as the storm broke with a howl of fury.

  Rain and hail pelted against the window and lightning flashed blue-white in the room, which was dimly lit by a bedside candle and the crackling fire. In the hallway came the sound of a scuffle, a muffled shout, and a noisy crash. The storm’s fury intensified, drowning out all other noises, and Caitlyn heard nothing more. She’d thought she knew the power of the curse, but the sheer power of the storm was like no other.

  She shivered and went to the bellpull to summon Muiren, but just as her fingers closed around it, her door was rudely opened and MacLean strode in.

  She caught her breath. His cravat was ruined, one coat sleeve was torn at the shoulder, and a cut by one eye trickled blood, as did one on his lower lip. His eyes were agleam with masculine confidence, a satisfied smile curving his mouth. He closed the door and gestured toward the empty lock. “Where’s the key?”

  “Muiren put it in the top drawer of the dressing table. I’ve never—”

  He strode across the room and fetched the key, then dropped it into her hand. “From now on, you will lock that door. Do you understand? Dervishton is not to be trusted.”

  She nodded, then shivered. “I never expected him to . . .”

  “Someone gave him the notion that you’re only a half step above a lady bird,” MacLean said grimly.

  “Ah. Her grace.”

  MacLean’s gaze flickered over her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, you came in the nick of time. But you clearly took a beating.”

  “Dervishton made a few paltry attempts to retaliate. He did not win the fight.”

  “Good God. If you look like that and you won, what does he look like?”

  “A bloody mess.” MacLean’s smile faded. “You’re certain he didn’t hurt you?”

  She smiled. “Do I look hurt?”

  “No. You look … delectable.” His gaze heated and the air between them grew heavy as if weighted with a million thoughts and feelings, all of them too tangled to unwind into coherent thought.

  “Sit down and let me clean those wounds,” she ordered in a husky voice, pointing to the chaise by the fire. She whisked over to the pitcher and basin on the washstand and dampened a hand towel. Keep your wits, Hurst. Just because you’re alone with him is no reason to panic. But it wasn’t panic. Something far more dangerous made her blood race and her hands tremble.

  She turned from the washstand and pasted a smile on her lips. “I have three brothers, so I’m quite used to dealing with split lips and black eyes.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m not in need of a nursemaid.”

  “Good, because I’m no nursemaid. Once I’ve washed off the blood and made sure you don’t need stitches, I’ll turn you over to your valet. He can be your nursemaid.” She crossed to the door and locked it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want someone to burst in on us while I get you cleaned up.”

  He scowled. “Just give me the towel.”

  “No. You can’t see where it’s cut, and I can.”

  “Very well, damn it!” He went to the chaise and sat with a scowl. “Just hurry up and do it.”

  Moving to stand between his knees, Caitlyn was achingly aware of him. She placed her hand beneath his chin and lifted his face, his warm, whisker-roughed skin making her fingertips tingle. She dabbed the cut on his lip, wincing when he did so. “That hurts.”

  His gaze, liquid and dark in the dim light, met hers. “No.” His voice was low and deeper than usual.

  She gently wiped the blood from his chin, then moved to the cut below his eye. Cleaning the blood off with a few gentle pats, she was relieved to see that the wound was minor. “It’s not deep, but your eye will be bruised in the morning.”

  The warmth that emanated from him drew her closer. She leaned against his leg as she pretended to examine his bruises more closely, in reality admiring the masculine line of his mouth. Why did he have to have such a beautiful mouth, one that begged so to be kissed?

  Outside the storm raged, the rain sluicing against the windowpanes. Inside the bedchamber, the fire warming them, the light flicking over MacLean’s face, it was as if they were the only people in the entire world.

  “Caitlyn,” he whispered, his breath harsh.

  She dropped the towel on the floor and reached for him, sliding her arms around his neck. “Kiss me.”

  He pulled her close and their lips met as a rumble of thunder shook the house. There was no gentleness in this kiss, no caution. It was purely hot and urgent.

  Caitlyn shivered as Alexander’s hands roamed over her body, warming, molding, tempting her to move closer, to be more daring. She slid her hands into his thick, black hair, burying her fingers in the soft waves. She devoured him with her kiss, branded him as hers, urging him with her tongue to be bolder, to take more, to—

  He pushed her back, his breath harsh. “Caitlyn, we can’t do this. I will have you in my bed when I win the wager and not before.”

  Blast the damned wager! He was going to be honorable now? She couldn’t accept that, though his pride seemed to hold him firmly against the notion. Then inspiration struck. “If I lose, I must come to your bed. Correct?”

  “Yes.” He looked weary.

  “Then I see no conflict. This isn’t your bed.”

  His lips twitched. “You are determined in this?”

  She slid her hands to his face and lifted his mouth to hers. “Please, MacLean. I’ve thought of nothing else for the last few weeks. I just want—”

  Alexander kissed her. He couldn’t have said no now if he tried. Having their legs entwined, her full breasts pressed to his chest, her warm skin beneath his fingers, was driving him mad.

  He wanted her passionately, desperately, and completely. But she was an innocent. Could he really—

  With a muffled oath, she answered his unspoken question when she pressed herself fully against him, hooked a heel over his calf, and kissed him for all she was worth.

  In that moment, Alexander was lost. He could fight himself, stifle his own urges, but not hers—never hers. Sweet, impulsive, savoring life, she made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt.

  He covered her mouth with his, mastering her even as he was mastered. He slid his hands over her, lifting her skirts and pushing her gown aside as he settled her on his lap, her knees to each side of his hips as he possessively explored every lush curve, every smooth expanse of skin.

  He untied her gown and pushed it down over her shoulders to expos
e her lush breasts. Cupping them in his hands, he marveled at the silken texture of her skin, then bent his mouth to them and teased the nipples to hard peaks.

  Caitlyn moaned and writhed against him, clearly hungry for more, savoring the feelings the way she savored her food. He kissed her from her plump lips to the gentle curve of her shoulder, and she pressed against him, asking silently for more, her hips restlessly pressing against his erection.

  God she was a handful, and she seemed to know exactly what she wanted. This is definitely no virgin. Relief flooded through him and his passion exploded with full force. He unlaced his breeches, releasing his cock, groaning when she tried to help, her fingers brushing against him. Then he pushed aside her chemise and lifted her up until she was poised over him.

  Eyes locked, panting heavily, he pressed the tip of his cock against her slick opening.

  For a long moment they stared at one another, then she placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed down, over him. With a gasp, he slipped into her tight wetness, keeping his eyes open to absorb the look on her face.

  Her face was flushed, her skin glistening, her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Her long, gold hair tumbled about her in silken swirls, her gown opened to reveal her smooth skin and gorgeous breasts. He was so overcome with her that for a moment, he had to stop and fight for control.

  She wiggled and pressed down more, and his cock slipped farther inside her, her velvety heat unlike anything he’d ever felt. He grasped her waist tightly, but refused to help her—she had to control this, and she was doing a damned fine job.

  Inch by delicious inch, she lowered herself onto him. Her tight wetness almost undid him. His body was drenched with sweat, his muscles screaming as he clenched them to hold off the explosion.

  She pushed down more . . . then stopped, wincing in pain.

  Shocked, his gaze locked with hers. Was she a—

  Hands gripping his shoulders, she thrust herself down completely over his cock. A spasm of pain flickered over her face, followed quickly by blissful pleasure.

  Alexander could no longer think. He rocked into her hard and fast, caressing her breasts, kissing her deeply as he increased the tempo until she was gasping, her skin dewy with exertion and flushed a delicate pink.