A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (12 page)

Chapter 15

The sun was up when Deidre rode back through the gates of Castle Broch Murdo. The ship’s captain had been reluctant to listen in the beginning and shrewd when it came to the negotiations. After, they’d taken their time riding back, high on the success of the evening.

Deidre had other reasons for delaying as well. She’d timed their return to hit the town closest to Broch Murdo right as the market was opening for the day. Not only would they return conquering heroes with a lucrative new venture to announce—they would also return laden down with food. Rule number four was nagging at Deidre ever since Darrow asked if Ewan needed them as much as they needed him. A proper breakfast, procured by their winnings from the card table, would be an excellent beginning.

Of course, it would be simpler if he’d just bed her. Deidre’s talent at seduction was equally formidable. If she could ever get him to stop being so damned chivalrous, there would be nothing to worry about.

Tristan groaned as they dismounted in the castle courtyard. “I never want to sit in another saddle, ever again.”

Deidre laughed. “Aww. Did the city make you soft, baby brother?”

“The city made me civilized,” he countered. “An arse like tack leather is of no interest to me.”

“I’ll second that,” Darrow said with a similar groan.

“You’re both mad. Being out on the road, away from all the judging eyes and—”

“C’mon, Tom. If you let her get started, there’ll be no stopping her.”

They hurried inside, leaving Deidre with three saddled horses and all of their market purchases. She was untying a bag of flour and running through the various curses she could remember when she felt a familiar presence behind her.

“That last one seemed a bit excessive,” Ewan said over her shoulder. “If they’ve already been castrated, I dinnae think the other thing will make much difference.”

Her entire body warmed at the sound of his voice. She pushed aside the mocking echo of rule number five as she turned. “It will give me immense satisfaction.”

“Och, well then. Far be it from me to stand between ye and immense satisfaction,” he said with mock seriousness.

Far be it indeed. He’d stood between it on multiple occasions already.

“What’s all this?” He started untying the load from Tristan’s horse.

Deidre noticed one of his hands was tightly bandaged. “We had an unexpected windfall, so we went to the market and bought food. What happened to your hand?”

Ewan stopped. “Unexpected windfall.”

Oh, for pity’s sake. “We paid for it, Ewan.”

“How?” His posture had gone rigid. “I signed on for smuggling, because I dinnae mind a little tax evasion here and there, but robbing honest folk—”

Of all the sanctimonious . . . It must be nice, up there in his tower of moral purity, where no one ever went hungry and everyone treated each other decently just because they were supposed to. “We won the money in a card game. Happy?”

“I take it ye cheated?”

“I swear, Ewan, if you try to preach the wholesomeness of people who choose to gamble their money away—”

“Aye, aye. Save yer curses. I see yer point.”

“Thank you,” she said, not bothering to temper her sarcasm.

His unbandaged hand closed lightly around her upper arm. “Deidre.”

She turned—she had no choice—and looked him in the eye. “What?”

“It’s nae that I dinnae appreciate it.”

Odd. It seemed exactly like that.

“It’s just going to take some time to get used to.”

Deidre wished he didn’t sound so damned sincere. When he looked at her, unguarded and earnest, her chest started aching in the most inconvenient way. “I understand.”

“Good, but Deidre.” He pulled her back when she tried to turn away. “I need ye to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Smuggling, cheating at cards—that’s all fine. But I need ye to promise ye willnae take from honest people.”

And just like that, the ache disappeared. “Your people, you mean? People who live wholesome and sheltered?”

It was all right if she robbed her own kind, but the honorable sheriff Ewan MacMurdo needed to ensure that she didn’t prey on any of the decent folk.

“That’s nae what I’m—”

“Oh, I fully understand what yer saying,” she said, voice rising with her temper.

“No, ye dinnae!” he shouted back. It echoed through the courtyard. His next words were quiet. “I just mean, dinnae take from anyone who cannot afford to lose it.”

“I never do.” What kind of villain did he take her for? She’d seen far too many of her own hungry days to be able to stomach making her living off the needy.

“Oh.” He let her arm go. Deidre had forgotten he held it in her irritation. “I dinnae ken that.”

“Well, now you do.” She turned back to her horse, angrily unstrapping saddle buckles.

The horse didn’t appreciate her lack of composure and sidestepped out of the way. Ewan caught its bridle with his injured hand. He winced. “I’m sorry I yelled. And if I hurt ye.”

She whirled on him. “That’s what you’re sorry about? Just that?”

“I—”

“I don’t give a damn if you yell at me, Ewan. It takes a lot more than a raised voice to weaken my knees. And if you lay hands on me in a way I don’t like, you can be sure I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Then wh—”

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Do you think I don’t know the difference between right and wrong just because I’ve had to do things you haven’t to survive?”

“Deidre, I—”

“Honestly. You’re so likable all the time, sometimes I forget what an absolute—”

And then he kissed her.

***

His good hand grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. His mouth silenced her with the gentlest of pressure. She leaned into him. Ewan apologized with his lips. He kissed how amazing he thought she was. How intelligent, and capable, and strong. He kissed that he’d never met anyone like her in his life, and she heard him.

“Idiot,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Selkie,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She leaned her head on his chest. “Ewan—”

“Woman, if ye tell me it’s just business between us again, I’ll nae be responsible for my actions.”

He could practically feel the wheels in her head turning.

“What sort of actions?” A smile lifted her cheek against his shirt.

The growl that rumbled through him was all the response she needed.

“Ewan, what’s between us. It’s just—” She shrieked when he threw her over his shoulder.

With long strides, he took them through the main doors and into the great hall. She wriggled and laughed, doing her best to get him to drop her. “It’s no use struggling. I warned ye nae to do it.”

She pulled his hair.

“That’s nice. A little harder, though.”

She kicked her legs, kneeing him in the chest. He slapped a hand down on her backside.

He probably should have realized she was the sort of honorless cheat that would resort to tickling. When she went for the sensitive spots on his sides, he had no choice but to drop her.

She leapt away from him with a wicked challenge in her eyes. “Are you fast enough to catch me, Ewan?”

Anyone else and he’d have been certain, but Deidre was a constant surprise. He wouldn’t put it past her to be as fleet of foot as she was of mind. She didn’t wait for his answer before she turned and ran.

Ewan was powerless not to give chase. They brought out a primal response in each other. If she ran, he would follow. If she issued a challenge, he had to answer it. They sped through the castle. Ewan was faster, but Deidre was agile. She gained ground taking corners and zigzagging through rooms filled with furniture. Ewan gained it back in long hallways. By the time she let him catch her, he’d lost track of where they were.

He raced down a set of stairs, only to find she’d disappeared. He looked around the darkened room. The sound of the door at the top of the stairs closing flipped him around.

He knew this room.

“I’m tired of running, Ewan.” The seductive tone was lost on him.

With the creaking closing of that door, he was transported twenty-five years into the past. “Open the door.”

Her footsteps moved down the stairs toward him. “I don’t think you want—”

“Open the door, Deidre.” He tried to convince himself he wasn’t trapped, but he already knew there were no windows in this room. No other doorways. The only way out was that door, and Ewan knew it all too well.

She stopped. “Ewan? Is something wrong?”

“Please, Deidre. Please, open the door.” He was not above begging. Not here.

“All right.” She turned and pulled on the handle. “What the devil? It’s stuck.”

Ewan closed his eyes. He took deep, even breaths. “Let me try.”

Her skirts rustled as she moved aside.

He pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again. Not even a rattle. He stepped back and slammed his shoulder into the door with full force. It remained firmly shut. It was the same ironbound oak slab monstrosity from his childhood. From his nightmares.

He’d lifted his broken fist when Deidre stepped between him and the door. This close, with the sliver of light around the door, they could see each other.

“Stop, Ewan.”

“I cannae.”

“Ruining your hand won’t get us out.”

He raised his unbroken hand.

She closed her own hands around it. “Stop.”

“I cannae. I cannae stay here.”

They were going to die.

***

Something was seriously wrong with Ewan. One moment they’d been having fun, racing through the castle, and the next he was lost in some kind of episode. She needed to snap him out of it before the situation got out of hand.

“Kiss me.”

“I cannae—”

She took his wrapped hand and squeezed. The pain split his face in a grimace.

He looked at her, and she knew he saw her this time. “Kiss me.”

“Deidre.”

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, but you can’t go to wherever you just went.”

“I’ve been in this room before.” His eyes started getting wild again.

She grabbed his chin, forcing him to focus on her. “Kiss me. If it does to you anything like what it does to me, you’ll forget where you are.”

There was a breath where she thought he would refuse. It seemed like he might head off to whatever dark place was calling to him, but then in a blink she was pressed against the door and he was surrounding her. She’d thought the masterful kiss in his bedroom was his best work, and she’d been happy with it, but this . . . this was Ewan, unleashed. He’d clearly been holding back.

His possession of her lips was absolute. He lifted her, pinning her between the door and his impossibly solid body. Hands shaped her thighs, squeezed her hips, as he laid siege to her mouth. They slid to her waist and sent shivers up her rib cage. When his palms cupped her breasts, she sent a silent thank-you heavenward. Everywhere he touched radiated desire.

She felt the hardness of him between them and shifted her hips, bringing them closer together. He pressed back with his own. It was torture. It was incredible. Deidre needed him—now. She reached down, unbuckling the belt that held his kilt in place. For once he didn’t try to stop her.

Belt and kilt fell to the floor. Under his shirt, she found his shaft and wrapped her fingers around it. His sharp inhale forced a break in the assault on her mouth. She squeezed with her hand. A shudder went through him, rippling muscles up and down his torso. He flexed his hips, pushing against her. Muscles rippled again.

Deidre pulled his head back down to her own. “Take me. Now.”

His eyes locked with hers and he smiled. There was nothing chivalrous about it. It was wicked, just like she was. His head dipped, finding the swell of her cleavage. He teased her with his attention until she couldn’t take it. She needed his hands on her.

“Rip it,” she demanded.

The fabric tore. He ripped the bodice in two, spilling her breasts out between them.

“Stunning.” He brought his palms up to cover them.

“Ewan—” she demanded.

He cut her off with more kisses. She thought she would go mad from his massaging and pinching, pulling her nipples in just the right way that she felt it between her thighs.

She captured his lower lip between her teeth and bit her frustration.

He growled, thrusting against her again.

“Now.” She couldn’t wait anymore. She needed him inside her or she would lose her mind.

His hands left her breasts, tearing her clothes the rest of the way. He pulled her free of the remains, dropping them on top of his kilt. Deidre grabbed the edge of his shirt. He took over when she couldn’t lift it any higher, letting it fall onto the pile.

Ewan’s naked body was a masterpiece. Everything about it spoke of power impossibly contained. Broad shoulders flowed into a broad chest. The contours of it called to Deidre, and she reached up to touch him. She ran her hands over the ridges of pectoral muscles and traced the rough hairs that traveled a path down to his waist.

He held himself still while she admired him. The only motion was the deep inhale and exhale of his breath. She trailed her fingers lightly over his abdomen. A shiver arced through the stack of muscles there, traveling upward and ending in a twitch of his chest. She’d thought she couldn’t wait—and the ache he’d created in her was still a commanding force—but she was mesmerized by the sight of him.

“Does that tickle?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She skimmed her fingers again. Another shudder rippled through his body. Her approval came out as a low noise in her throat.

“Have ye had yer fill?”

“No.” Deidre doubted she ever would.

“Too bad.” He lifted her, wrapping her legs around him. One hand tangled in her hair again as the other reached between them. He touched her and she forgot all about the play of his muscles across his body.

It was his turn to growl approval. He slid his fingers back and forth, driving her mad. She tried to shift, wanting more, but she was immobilized between his hips and the door. “Ewan.”

His lips found the side of her neck. He did delicious things to the edge of her earlobe with his teeth. All the while, he rocked his fingers in a torturous rhythm—never entering, but not stopping or slowing, either. She was so close to the edge and she wanted the feel of him buried deep in her when she went over.