Mad for the Plaid

  “I’m nae going to negotiate. We’re going to pay the ransom, retrieve the captives, and then get home as quickly and safely as we can. That is, we will do so if the abductors do nae do anything foolish.”

  Greer chewed his lip, while Rurik’s heavy brows snapped down and his jaw tightened. Even Gregor, who was trying to look supportive, but failing miserable, revealed all with his expression. Only one person at the table was successfully hiding their thoughts, and Ailsa realized with a sinking feeling that she valued that opinion the most.

  Gregor sighed. “I fear we could end oop with neither the money nor the hostages. It would be a more sensible plan if we found this camp and attacked it while the abductors are off guard.”

  “How would we do that, Gregor, and keep the captives safe? Are you going to storm in as if we were putting a castle under siege, guns blazing and cannons firing, and leave it to luck and hope that an elderly man and woman will find safe cover?”

  “If that’s what it takes, aye.”

  She gave a frustrated “Nonsense!” and then added, “That would put the lives of the captives in extreme danger. I will nae have it until ’tis our only recourse.”

  Gregor slid a look at Nik. “What do you think?”

  Nik felt the weight of Ailsa’s gaze, and recognized the flicker of hope in her eyes. She wanted his support here, before her men. And God, how he wanted to give it. He wanted to see those amazing eyes light up, see her full lips part in a smile that was for no one but him.

  But he had to tell the truth. “I cannot agree with paying the ransom.”

  Her jaw tightened. “But—”

  “It is not a good policy. If we locate the camp where the prisoners are being held, we should attack as soon as possible, before those fools have time to flee with our loved ones and leave us with naught.”

  Ailsa’s brows lowered. “This is my rescue effort. You joined me and my men, nae the other way around. Things will proceed as I say. We will nae participate in a raid until we know for certain if paying the ransom will yield results.”

  He would have given his left arm to be able to agree with her. He could see from the tension in the stiff set of her shoulder, the tightness of her jaw, that she was heels down on this idea.

  But all of his experiences, all of his instincts told him she was wrong. “Krasavitsa, we are speaking about my grandmother. I must do as I think best.”

  “And what makes you think you know best?”

  “Because just as you have more experience with brigands, I have more experience with abductions.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “How many abductions have you dealt with?”

  He silently counted, then said, “Sixteen that I can think of. I’m sure I’ve missed a few.”

  “Sixteen—I cannae believe that.”

  Nik shrugged and took a drink from his flask.

  “Ailsa, it’s possible he’s telling the truth,” Gregor offered cautiously. “I daresay members of royalty are more often the target of abductions and worse than the rest of us.”

  Nik put the top back on the flask and handed it to Rurik. “Whoever took Lord Hamilton and my grandmother did not make up the term ‘abduction.’ It has happened since ancient times. And it happens far more often than you might imagine.”

  Ailsa frowned. “It costs us nothing but effort and some gold to pay the ransom. If we do, and the prisoners are nae released, then we can attack these fools in their camp.”

  “But paying that damned ransom costs us much more than that,” Nik replied. “If we pay the ransom, we lose our chance for true surprise.”

  “It’s worth the risk. You forget that it is verrah possible someone is trying to push my family into a clan war. I cannae allow that. We must free the captives and bring them home safely. ’Tis a sad plan if all you can think to do is attack the camp and hope our own people are nae hit by stray bullets or have their throats slit before we can reach them!”

  Nik bit back a sharp reply. She was strong and passionate in her beliefs, and God help him, beautiful when her ire had been raised. Beautiful and as sharp-edged as a new knife.

  Keenly aware of their audience, he picked up his map and folded it. “Let us think on this some more. We will discuss this again once Greer has returned from scouting the location where the ransom is to be delivered. We’ll have more information then.” And hopefully cooler heads. He met Ailsa’s gaze directly. “Agreed?”

  It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, and he knew it. But to his relief, after a stilted moment, she gave a curt nod.

  A noise came from the hallway, and the innkeeper arrived to announce that food would be served shortly, a hearty soup and fresh bread made only that morning.

  Greer went to get the others from where they were settling into their quarters off the stables, and Gregor pulled Ailsa back to the long table near the fire, where he spoke to her in a low voice, obviously attempting to cheer her up after the tense discussion. When Rurik started counting through the weapons they’d need for a possible raid, Nik listened with only half an ear, distracted by Ailsa’s concerned, disappointed expression. He wished with all his heart he could change her countenance from dark to light, but he couldn’t. Not when his grandmother’s life was at stake.

  Across the room, his gaze met Ailsa’s, and he inclined his head, hoping she at least knew this wasn’t a matter of trust or regard, but rather of expediency and experience.

  To his deep disappointment, Ailsa merely turned away and did not look back.

  Chapter 20

  Hours after retiring, Ailsa found herself wide-awake. Her bed was a poor excuse for comfort. The feather pillow was flat, and the straw-filled mattress was so hollowed in the center that she couldn’t sleep anywhere but the dead middle of the bed.

  Worse were the thin sheets and blanket. Not only did they provide no warmth, but she was fairly sure that if she moved with any suddenness, her feet would poke through the threadbare muslin. She thought about fetching her bedroll from the stables, but the floor in the hall was too creaky, and would wake the others.

  She flopped to her back, and stared at the ceiling. The inn was pitch-black, for everyone was asleep. Except me.

  She sighed and crossed her arms under her head. Perhaps her wakefulness was due to more than the discomfort of the bed. It could have to do with how she was irritated over a number of things.

  When she’d started out on this trek, she’d known it would become a test of her ability to lead her people. She was the lady of the manor, and at one time, she’d assumed that gave her complete say over their rescue mission. But that was before she’d somehow been outranked by a too-certain-of-himself prince. Worse, the farther away they got from Castle Leod, the more things changed. Her men were far more willing to challenge her.

  Perhaps that was the normal way of things. They’d faced extremely difficult situations on their travel here, which had changed all of them in one way or another.

  She, for one, had a newfound respect for her men. She’d always thought them capable, but had no appreciation for Stewart’s dry wit, MacKean’s quickness, or Greer’s willingness to take on the more difficult chores. From her desk in the study at Castle Leod, she would never have known their abilities. It was only when she worked side by side with them that she truly saw what they were capable of.

  Perhaps one of the gifts she would take away from this venture was the realization that she’d been unwittingly isolating herself from her people. She would find a way to address that issue when she returned, for it would make Castle Leod more successful.

  She loved her home and her charges. For now, at least, it was who she was, what she was meant to do.

  She shifted restlessly in the hard bed, her thoughts settling on a far more troublesome issue—Nik. He was a very pleasant, amazingly sensual diversion, but that was all. From the little she’d garnered, it seemed his life was too complicated to be shared. It saddened her that he believed everyone in his world had an ugly motive for being there. She thought
—

  A creak sounded in the hallway. She lifted her head to stare through the pitch dark at the closed door. Was that a footstep? No other sound could be heard.

  But as soon as she relaxed her head on her flat pillow, she heard it again.

  Someone was in the hallway.

  Her heart gave a sickly thud. Twice now someone had tried to rob them, and both times Nik had been injured. What if it happened again? What if he was, even now, bloodied upon the floor of his bedchamber?

  She threw off the covers and arose, her chemise offering scant warmth. Although it was made of soft wool, her skin prickled with goose bumps as she found the chair she’d placed at the side of her bed, where her pistol rested on top of her clothes, ready for the coming morning.

  The weapon was cold and heavy as she carried it to the door. There, she pressed her ear to the cold wood and waited.

  She waited, breath held, listening. There! Another creak, this time near the stairwell. Only she, Nik, Gregor, and Rurik were on this floor. Had someone slipped up the stairs to do mischief?

  She remembered the bitterness in Nik’s gaze when Gregor had mentioned in such a matter-of-fact tone about royalty being abducted “and worse.”

  She tightened her grip on her pistol and slowly turned the doorknob. It opened with a faint click.

  She waited, but no sound answered it.

  Thank goodness! She let her breath out in a faint sigh, then peered into the hallway. Nothing but blackness met her gaze. When she’d come to bed earlier in the evening, she’d noted that the hall floor had creaked loudly near the steps. If she stayed near the wall, the creaking should be much less. First, though, she held her place, waiting. Somewhere outside, she heard a low noise, but nothing else.

  Perhaps she’d imagined the footfalls. Or perhaps—more alarming—whoever had been in the hallway had completed their evil task.

  She looked in the direction of Nik’s door, but she was too far away to hear anything.

  If she listened at his door and heard him breathing, she’d know he was safe and her alarm nothing more than her own overactive imagination. She stepped into the hallway and quietly made her way to his door.

  There, she pressed her ear to the rough panel, listening intently.

  No sound met her efforts. Shouldn’t she be able to hear him breathing, at least? She put her hand on the knob, wondering if she should chance a peek. Her heart beat rapidly. Perhaps something was indeed wrong. She had to find out or she’d never sleep.

  She turned the knob as slowly as she could. Just as she went to push the door open, it swung back, and in one swift, blinding move, her pistol was jerked from her hand, and she was pinned chest out against a warm, hard wall, a hand over her mouth. “Shhh,” Nik whispered into her ear.

  He needn’t have worried; her tongue was as frozen as her mind.

  He quietly closed the door and then eased his hold, bending to whisper, “You heard it, too?”

  She grasped his wrist, pulling his hand from her mouth. “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know, but they are out in the courtyard now. I heard the front door below my bedchamber open and close.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “Someone was near the stables. But it’s a new moon and I couldn’t make out who it might be.”

  “Should we go see who it is?”

  “Nyet. I don’t hear anything now. Perhaps it was Rurik or your cousin searching for the outhouse.”

  “Oh. I had nae thought of that.” She paused, aware of how warm his skin was against her chemise. “I . . . I should return to my room, then.”

  But she made no move to do so.

  And he made no move to release her.

  Instead, he lowered his head, his breath sweet and warm on her cheek. “Why did you come here, krasavitsa?”

  “I heard the footsteps and wished to make certain you were well.”

  “I am honored, but . . . that’s all? You weren’t slipping into my room in the hopes of joining me in my bed? I’m disappointed.” As he spoke, he turned her so that she faced him, sliding his hands over her, from her hips, to her waist, and then up her back, molding her to him.

  She shivered, pressing against him.

  His hands never stopped roaming and tugging, pulling her closer. Soon, she realized he’d untied her chemise.

  “Take it off,” he growled in her ear, easing his hold.

  She could have argued. And he would have listened, too.

  But her breasts were already heavy with wanting, and she realized that if she left now, without embracing her desires for him, she’d have naught but regrets. She slipped the undergarment from her shoulders and let it drop to her feet.

  She stepped out of the pool of clothes made by her chemise as Nik’s arm tightened about her waist. With one easy movement, he lifted her to him, over his glorious expanse of bare chest. She let her hands wander, tracing his ridged abdomen, his muscled arms, the strong column of his throat.

  His ragged breath met her explorations, and with a swift tilt of his head, he captured her mouth with his, his hunger and wildness as evident as her own.

  She pressed into him, her bared breasts to his unclothed chest, her naked hips to his powerful thighs, shifting against him, wordlessly inciting him to do more.

  He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple until she gasped and squirmed against him, lifting her legs around him.

  He held her there, her womanhood against his hip, his erection captured between them. She clenched her teeth against a wild moan. God, how she loved the feel of him against her.

  She pressed against his thick shaft, gasping as wanton heat flooded her.

  He growled, and rocked back on his heels, thrusting his hips forward as he trailed hot, openmouthed kisses down the line of her throat, over her collarbone, sending spirals of heat through her.

  She rocked her hips against him, and he broke the kiss, his hot breath tickling the trail left by his kisses.

  He took two steps and then found the bed. He lowered her to the edge.

  She started to scoot back, but he placed his large warm hands over her thighs, holding her in place. “Stay.”

  She did so, her heart pounding furiously. What is he going to do? How do I—

  He knelt, and she gave a startled gasp as he pressed her legs apart, bending forward to capture her mouth in a demanding kiss. When her objections had been quelled, he left her swollen lips and trailed his lips over her jaw to her neck, kissing and nipping as she splayed her hands through the crisp curls on his chest.

  His mouth went lower, to her breast, where he captured a tortured nipple and twirled his tongue over it.

  She sank her hands into his hair and arched toward him, half mad with desire.

  Though she couldn’t see a thing, the darkness sharpened her other senses until she was filled with them. He smelled of sandalwood soap and leather; his skin so warm that she wondered if he still had a fever. His breathing was rapid and harsh, which delighted her to no end. She ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back, pressing her breast more fully into his mouth.

  He obliged her unspoken demand, twirling his tongue over her nipple, rolling it between his teeth until she shook with need.

  He released her and sank lower, dropping heated kisses down her midriff.

  He pressed her back on the bed, his broad shoulders opening her legs.

  She panted as if she were running with all her might up a steep hill. Sensations flooded her; her body ached and yearned. She couldn’t keep her legs still, couldn’t stop moving against him, like waves thrusting upon a shore, seeking land upon which to rest.

  He shifted, his weight moving down, spreading her legs until she was fully open before him, her most intimate part level with his stubbled chin.

  He raked his chin over her wetness, and she dug her fingers deep into the blankets to keep from crying out.

  He did it again, and then again, each time listening to her panted whimpers. He flick
ed his tongue over her damp curls.

  She clenched her eyes closed and dropped her head back as he teased and taunted with his tongue. In, out. Up, down.

  She reached for him with one hand, her fingers threading through his hair as she pressed his face to her, urging him to keep kissing, keep stroking, gasping his name as her hips lifted of their own accord. He slipped his hands under her bottom and held her up, angled now for his pleasure as he plundered her.

  He was unrelenting and ruthless, tasting her with a thoroughness that left her writhing under an assault of feeling so intense, a tear slid down her temple to pool in her hair. She anchored him in place, holding him to her, pressing herself to him.

  He cupped her cheeks tightly as his tongue filled her and, with a cry, she arched wildly as her senses tumbled, gasping his name over and over while her body spasmed with pleasure.

  Her cries seemed to inspire him, for he increased his ministrations, lapping at her until she was lost, quivering at the wildness that was her body.

  Finally, she could stand no more and she whispered a broken, “Please, dinnae—”

  He stopped instantly, and arose to slide an arm about her waist. He pulled her to the center of the mattress, covering her body with his.

  His erection rested against her hip, and she turned toward him, kissing him fiercely. Now she was the one tempting and teasing. She splayed her leg over his hip and reached between them, her fingers encircling his hot shaft—

  He groaned and lifted on his elbows, positioning himself between her thighs. With an insistent push, he pressed into her. His ready cock filled her slickness with a thick, velvet hardness. A momentary pain made her gasp, but then he was moving, his hips thrusting against hers, her body aching with the sweetness.

  She closed her eyes and met him thrust for thrust, as he rained kisses down her neck, his harsh breath spurring her onward as she planted her heels on the mattress, lifting her hips to meet his.

  He murmured her name, gasping harshly as he took her with a wildness that stole her breath. Their passion built until she gasped and arched against him, losing herself in another wave of pleasure. As if in answer, he gave a final thrust, pulling free just as his own passion erupted.