A Rough Wooing (5 page)

Greystoke gave her an approving look, and she
suddenly felt empowered, though perhaps it was the liquor that was
making her feel brave.

“Is there anything else you’d like,
Firebrand?”

He speaks like a bloody god, bestowing his
gifts from Olympus! Now’s your chance, Douglas. You don’t ask, you
don’t get. I’d like to return home. I’d like the release of my
brothers.
Instead, she threw him a challenging smile. “Some
food, and hot water to bathe.”

Greystoke’s eyes widened slightly. He took
the empty glass from her fingers and set it aside. Then he moved
behind her, and cupped her shoulders in his strong hands. “Yes,
you’re still cold, and both those things would thaw you. Curl up
before the fire, while I see what I can find in the kitchen.”

When he withdrew, she took a deep breath, and
congratulated herself. Though he was an English nobleman, he had
rescued her from prison, and was now waiting upon her. She knew
that she was vain, but she had more than a suspicion that he was
attracted to her. Her innate honesty compelled her to admit that
she also was attracted to Lance Greystoke.

He brought her a steaming bowl of lamb and
barley broth. When she took it from him, it warmed her hands, and
she breathed in its tantalizing aroma. Between spoonfuls she said,
“I thought only Scots enjoyed this kind of soup, but now I see it
must be a Border favorite. We may have more in common than we
realize.”

“Such as a mutual desire for horses?” he
suggested lightly.

Douglas reminded herself that the English
Border Warden was dangerous. She must avoid the topic of horses,
lest she say something that would further incriminate her
brothers.

“I was thinking of home-brewed ale, salmon
fishing, and books.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I envy you your
library, Greystoke.”

His dark eyes focused on her mouth. “You are
an anomaly, a beautiful female with a penchant for reading.”

She set her spoon down in the empty bowl.
“And you, Sir Lancelot, are an enigma.”

“I know.”

He gestured toward the staircase. “I had a
servant heat you some water, if you would care to follow me.”

She rose to her feet slowly.
Why is he
giving me all I ask? When will he start taking?
Her inner voice
warned:
He is a man. There will be a price to pay.
Douglas
tried to silence the voice.
When I call the tune, I’m perfectly
willing to pay the piper. It could be most rewarding.
“Lead on,
my lord.”

Greystoke led her directly to his own
bedchamber, where a copper bath stood before the fire. Her glance
swept about the room. The furniture was polished black oak, the
hangings gold velvet, and the huge bed dominated the chamber.

A manservant appeared carrying two buckets of
steaming water. He added it to the water already in the copper
tub.

Douglas smiled. “Thank you so much.”

The man acknowledged her thanks with a nod,
and withdrew.

She sat down in a chair before the fire and
proceeded to remove her boots. Then she took off her knitted hose
and wriggled her bare toes in the deep-piled carpet. She paused,
wondering if he would leave. When Greystoke remained, she
deliberately reached up and unpinned her braids, then with deft
fingers she loosened the plaited strands. She shook her head and
the fiery red tresses tumbled about her shoulders. Her eyes met his
in a challenge. When he made no move to leave, she was determined
that he would not intimidate her, nor inhibit her, for that matter.
She turned her back on him and began to unfasten the buttons at her
neck. “I’ll need a towel,” she threw over her shoulder, “and
something clean to put on.”

Silence behind her made her glance back.
Greystoke had disappeared. With all speed she stripped off her
leather breeches and the rest of her clothes and climbed into the
tub.

The water covered only her legs and hips, but
she scooped up handfuls and splashed it over her belly and breasts.
Douglas let out a blissful sigh, and picked up the soap and
sponge.

The door opened. Greystoke hadn’t disappeared
for long. He closed the distance between them. He carried a towel
and a white linen shirt. “I have no female garments, Firebrand, but
you don’t seem to mind male attire.”

She slid down as low as she could in the tub,
proving that she was both intimidated and inhibited. She clutched
the sponge to her breasts like a protective shield.

“Douglas, surely by now you know I won’t harm
you?”

“Are you telling me I can trust you?”

“Good God, I wouldn’t go that far!”

“You arrogant devil. Turn your eyes away,
while I finish bathing.”

“Not a chance.” His gaze licked over her,
missing no detail. “You are extremely lovely to look at. But for
me, that isn’t your main attraction.”

His words so intrigued her, she forgot to
clutch the sponge.

“It is your pride and confidence. It makes
you incandescent. I’ve never seen a woman who seemed more alive,
Firebrand.” He reached down and took the sponge, then he moved
behind her, lifted her hair, and soaped her back. “Your bravado is
irresistible, and your innocence draws me like a siren’s song.”

“The water cools.”

“My blood heats.”

“Step away, or I’ll rake my nails down your
face!”

He chuckled. “Feisty little Scot.” He held
out the towel.

Her eyes widened. “You are baiting me.”

He grinned. “And you are rising to the
bait.”

She did rise. Like Venus from the sea. She
deliberately drenched him with the water. She grabbed the towel,
and Greystoke grabbed her. She was panting with anger and
indignation, and she struggled in his powerful arms like a wildcat.
She soon realized that fighting him was useless. He was far too
strong. She stilled, and to her amazement, he set her feet to the
carpet.

“I think we’ve succeeded in banishing your
chill and warming your blood. Dry yourself and put on my shirt. I
hope you enjoyed the tussle as much as I did.” He removed his
soaking wet shirt, and reached for her towel.

Douglas stepped back quickly before he could
snatch the towel and render her naked.

“How dare you?” she demanded. “‘Tis said the
Scots are uncivilized, but I warrant they have nothing on
Englishmen. I expected a chivalrous nobleman, not a savage
barbarian!”

“Thankless little bitch. I’ve rescued you,
fed you, warmed you, and bathed you.” Anger darkened his eyes as he
towered above her.

She tossed her head, and her fiery tresses
tumbled about her naked shoulders. “And for that you expect me to
lick your boots! Not in your lifetime, Englishman!”

Greystoke grabbed her and took possession of
her mouth with his. His arms held her captive against his bare
muscular chest. Heat leaped between them, as he kissed her deeply.
The firm pressure of his lips gentled as she stopped struggling,
and she gave herself up to his mastery.

A delicious feeling of pleasure swept Douglas
from her mouth to her mons. It was all new and exciting. She had
challenged his manhood, and he had risen to the occasion. She could
feel his hard cock against her soft flesh, and felt exhilaration at
the power she had over him. He was the captor and she the captive,
but suddenly she wanted to turn the tables on him. She opened her
lips, and felt a surge of sensuality when his tongue thrust into
the intimate, wet, dark cave of her mouth.

She let go of the towel, went up on her toes,
slid her arms about his neck, and pressed her full breasts against
his powerful chest. His overt masculinity made her feel deliciously
feminine. She felt his mouth release hers, and his lips brushed a
gentle kiss on her eyelids.

She let out a shuddering breath. “It seems
opposites have a fatal attraction.”

“Nay,” he murmured against her temple. “This
is like calling to like.”

Douglas immediately acknowledged the truth of
his words.

Greystoke stripped off his leather breeches
and flung them after his wet shirt. He settled her arms about his
neck once more, then his hands cupped her buttocks and he lifted
her onto his cock. He bent his head to claim her mouth, and she
raised her lips to meet his, eager for the ravishing. His shaft lay
in the valley between her legs. With their bodies entwined he
carried her across the chamber and deposited her on the wide
bed.

He stared down at her, drinking in her
glorious, wild beauty. “I’ve imagined these fiery curls between
your legs since I first saw you atop the stone wall.”

Douglas boldly reached out to touch the curls
that covered his groin. “Black and red, a dangerous
combination.”

“Danger excites you.” His voice was deep and
dark, like black velvet.

“You excite me,” she purred.

“Only because I’m dangerous, Firebrand.”

She licked her lips in sensual invitation.
“If you play with fire, you’ll burn your fingers.” She arched her
mons and felt a shudder of desire when he threaded his fingers into
her red curls.

Greystoke expected her to bargain with him,
offering her body in exchange for her brothers’ release.

Douglas had too much pride to ask. She would
give freely and hoped he’d do the same.

He came down to kneel beside her on the bed,
and spread her vivid hair across the pillow. His instincts told him
that this was her first time, in spite of her generous response to
him. Greystoke knew that in order to give her pleasure rather than
pain, he must arouse her fully, lure her to cast aside her
inhibitions, and revel in her own sexuality.

He picked up her foot and dropped a kiss on
each toe, then he slid his tongue along the high arch of her
instep. His calloused hands stroked up the creamy skin of her leg,
then he bent his head to kiss and lick the delicate flesh of her
thigh. When his mouth arrived at the tendrils on her mons, he
pursed his lips and blew on the curls, making them dance about in
playful abandon. Then he picked up her other foot and repeated the
foreplay.

“You make me feel beautiful and desirable,”
she said breathlessly.

“Douglas Elliot, you are so luscious, I could
devour you.” He gently bit her toes.

It was a new experience for her to be treated
as if she were special. She had a healthy sense of self-worth, but
in her family’s pecking order, she came after her brothers.
Greystoke looked at her and touched her as if she were precious,
and it felt blissful.

He stroked her belly and caressed her
breasts, first kissing, then tonguing her nipples. He felt himself
harden and lengthen, and when he saw she was avidly watching his
body’s reaction, his cock bucked wildly. He straddled her thighs,
and reached his fingers down to caress and stimulate her woman’s
center. He slipped a finger into her hot sheath, playing until she
became slick, then he brought her to climax and watched her eyes
widen in surprise. He cupped her mons and she cried out at the
exquisite sensations he aroused.

Douglas thought fleetingly of Alex Hume who
had pursued her at the Queen’s Court, and it made her shudder. When
she compared the young fop to Lance Greystoke, she was suddenly
thanking the Fates who had brought her to the English nobleman’s
bed. Here was a man worthy of her virginity. She banished her
apprehension, and her lips curved in an inviting smile.

Lance came over her and took possession of
her luscious mouth. He gave her a hundred kisses, arousing her
passion, then he whispered how much he desired her, and what he was
going to do to her. He positioned his cock. “Open to me, Douglas,”
he urged. She arched against him and he slid slowly into her tight
sheath. She could not take the whole length of him, but he was
overjoyed with her generous response to him. As he thrust in and
out, she writhed and cried out with pleasure. He did not prolong
it, for fear of hurting her. He spent quickly, then gathered her in
his arms, and buried his face in her glorious hair.

“Little Firebrand.”

Douglas was lying in such a delicious, warm
cocoon, she didn’t want to awaken. She opened her eyes and saw that
she was lying in Greystoke’s arms. She stretched languidly, and her
bed partner sat up. “It’s dawn. I hate to leave you sweetheart, but
I have to return to Carlisle Castle. I don’t want anyone to know I
left last night.” He dropped a kiss on her vivid curls and threw
back the covers.

She gave him a tremulous smile and drew the
covers up to her chin.

“You can spend the day in my library, reading
to your heart’s content. When I return tonight, I’ll take you home
to Castle Elliot.” He tenderly brushed back the tendrils from her
forehead. “You must know I’m reluctant to part with you, but
Beaumont Hall is too close to Carlisle Castle for your safety.”

Douglas watched him dress, then he kissed her
goodbye, and departed.

The minute Greystoke left, a picture of Gavin
and Rob rose up in her mind. “Poor Robbie, I hope they don’t hurt
you.” She felt bereft that Greystoke hadn’t offered to release her
brothers. She thought it was the least he could have done in return
for the loving they’d shared.
Gavin is a man, but Rob is just a
boy.
Douglas was racked with worry.

She flung off the covers, and used last
night’s bathwater to wash herself. Then she put on the linen shirt
Lance had offered her, and drew on her leather breeches and boots.
She made her plans swiftly, picked up her leather doublet and went
downstairs.

The servant she had seen the night before
bade her good morning. “Lord Greystoke asked me to prepare
breakfast for you, my lady. Would you like me to serve it in the
library?”

Douglas gave him a disarming smile “That
would be very kind of you.”

When she entered the library, she gazed at
all the books, but the large polished desk drew her like a magnet.
She ran her fingers over the intricate vine leaves that decorated
the mirrored pendant, and saw her reflection. Her hair was a
dishevelled mass of red curls, and she immediately tried to smooth
it, then plaited it. Her hairpins lay scattered somewhere in his
bedchamber, and she knew she wouldn’t go back up to retrieve
them.