Betrayed (7 page)

Fiona pulled off her cap and laid it aside.

“I'll help ye, mistress,” Nelly told her. “’Tis me duty.” She quickly undressed Fiona, then said, “Pin yer hair up, lady, while I add the boiling water. Do ye like it good and hot?”

“Aye,” Fiona said, a trifle embarrassed to find herself totally naked before a stranger, but Nelly didn't seem to take any notice as she cheerfully went about
her task of swinging the iron arm holding the black kettle of boiling water out from over the fire, lifting it up using a cloth to shield her hands, and pouring it gingerly into the oaken bathtub.

“There now, and we're ready,” Nelly said briskly as she helped her new mistress mount the two steps up so she could enter the tub.

Fiona sank down into the hot water with a gusty sigh. “Ahhh, Nelly lass, nothing ever felt so good to me as this does now,” she said.

Nelly chuckled. “Ye’ve never been on a horse before?”

Fiona shook her dark head. “They're hard creatures, and I've a soft behind, I fear.”

Nelly laughed. “I prefer me own feet, thank ye,” she replied.

Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening, and a tapestry hanging upon the wall by the bed was lifted up as the laird stepped into the room. “Good evening, my dearie,” he said to Fiona. “Ye may continue in yer duties, Nelly.” Then he sat down upon the bed.

“My lord!”
Fiona had finally managed to find her voice.

“Aye, lassie?”

“’Tis most unseemly that ye be here in my chamber while I bathe,” Fiona protested heatedly. “Please leave at once!”

“Lassie,” he explained in an amused voice, “watching one's mistress bathe is a pleasure, and I'll not be denied it. Besides, I see little more of ye than I already have seen. Nelly lass, bring me a goblet of wine before ye begin washing yer mistress.” He stretched his length out upon the bed, the pillows at his back, accepting the silver goblet the wide-eyed Nelly handed him. “Thank ye, Nelly.”

Blushing, Nelly curtsied and hurried back across the chamber to the tub where Fiona sat glaring angrily at the laird. “The soap has a nice fragrance of heather,” the girl said softly as she set to work to wash her mistress. Lathering her cloth, she gently scrubbed the creamy back and shoulders, the slender neck and arms, quickly rinsing them. “Ye'll have to raise yer legs, one at a time, lady, or I canna do them,” she whispered. Grimly Fiona followed the girl's soft instructions. “Oh lady, how are we to do the rest if ye canna stand up, and ye canna with
him
here.”

Fiona's eyes met the wicked glance of the laird as he sprawled lazily upon her bed. With a small mocking gesture he raised his goblet to her. Not a word passed between them, but Fiona was aware of the silent challenge. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, saying as she did, “Hurry, Nelly, ’Tis chilly. When ye've finished, I'll want to soak a bit. While I do, please warm my night attire.”

Nelly swallowed hard but went swiftly about the task of finishing her mistress's bath. She heard the laird's deep chuckle, yet did not see him once again raise his goblet to Fiona in appreciation of not simply her charms but her defiance. As for Fiona, she kept her glance impassive, although she was frankly mortified at having to display herself. She knew she was too damned slender, and her breasts were no bigger than young apples in early autumn. They would never really be big, she feared.

Angus Gordon drank his wine, but he hardly felt the heat of the liquid as it slid down his gut. He viewed Fiona's nakedness, astounded by the sensuousness of her form. Everything was in perfect proportion, even her pretty little breasts. They would grow a bit fuller in time, he suspected, but he hoped they would never lose their curvaceous charms or the pert sauciness of their
pink nipples. He could not see much else, for the height of the tub precluded it, and Nelly was discreetly attempting to shield Fiona from his curious gaze. After draining his cup, he set it aside and stood up, even as Fiona sat quickly back down in the tub.

“Ye've done yer duty nicely, Nelly,” he complimented her. “Now go to bed. Yer mistress won't need ye until the morning.” Firmly, a hand beneath the startled girl's elbow, he ushered her from the room. Closing the door behind Nelly, he made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he came to perch upon the edge of the tub. Reaching out, he twirled a damp tendril of Fiona's hair between his fingers, noting with admiration the creaminess of her neck and shoulders.

“Yer as bold as ye accuse me of being, my lord,” Fiona said softly, surprised to find that her voice was in working order.

“A man should be bold, but a woman should not be,” he answered her quietly. Her emerald eyes were really quite spectacular, he thought.

“Are ye just going to sit there while I soak?” she demanded.

“Aye,” he said calmly.
“Ye
canna soak forever, lassie.”

Silence descended, a silence so heavy it felt oppressive. Fiona hunched down as far as she dared without being cowardly. For a time the water was warm, but then it began to feel cool. She sneezed. Angus Gordon said nothing. Then he stood up and lifted her dripping form from the water, wrapping her in a towel. She was so surprised by his action, she had no time to protest it.

“Don't be witless, wench, and catch yer death. Ye have yer sisters to consider. They're better here with me than with one of yer brothers-in-law's families.” He began to rub her down.

“Take yer hands from me,” she snapped, her
composure returning. “I'm completely capable of drying myself off.”

“But I am enjoying doing it,” he said, continuing. “Since ye are to be my mistress, Fiona Hay, ’Tis time ye began learning what is expected of ye. For the present, until I tire of ye, I own ye, lassie, body and soul. Whatever I desire of ye, ye will do.”

“Why, ye pompous lout!” Fiona returned, snatching the towel from him. “I promised ye my maidenhead for those damned cattle, and no more. ’Tis ye who have changed the bargain,
and after we shook on it!”

“The maidenhead of the Blessed Virgin would not be worth twenty head of cattle,” he shouted back at her. “A lass's virtue is worth so much and no more, Fiona Hay. Do ye think me a fool?” Grasping the towel, he yanked it from her and stared hard. She was outrageously lovely with her dainty breasts, slim waist, and long shapely legs. ‘Jesu!” he muttered.

Frozen, Fiona couldn't move for a moment. There was something in the tone of his voice that bespoke danger, but she would not flee him.

Angus drew her slowly into his embrace. He touched her face, and her cheek was hot. She stared at him, wide-eyed, but there was absolutely no fear in her. He felt the gentle pressure of her bosom against the linen of his shirt. “Unlace me,” he growled at her, his voice fierce and commanding. Her fingers trembled slightly as she obeyed him. “Push my shirt off, lassie!” Her hands on his chest were soft as she removed the garment. He pulled her back against him, reveling in the sensation as skin touched skin. He ran his fingertips down the soft swell of her buttocks.

Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her vision was becoming blurry. She couldn't breathe. With a soft cry Fiona did what she had never thought to do.
She fainted.

Angus Gordon shook his head as he carried her to her bed, where he gently laid her down. If her brazen demeanor had ever led him to question her virtue, he now knew for certain that she was indeed a virgin. The look upon her face just before she swooned had been more than enough to convince him. It had been a mixture of slow sensual awakening and absolute terror. He didn't know if he was up to this. Cudgeling his brain, he tried to remember the last time he had deflowered a virgin. Then it dawned upon him.
He never had.
In fact, he had carefully steered clear of such lasses, for virgins were a capricious lot, forever falling in love with you and wanting to marry. Or so his late father had warned him. “Couple with the ones who enjoy it, laddie, but avoid the others, especially virgins, unless ye plan to wed one,” Robert Gordon counseled his son, going on to explain why.

He should have listened more closely to his father's advice, Angus Gordon thought ruefully. Still, the lass owed him a debt, and he'd not be made a laughingstock before all the world. Pouring a bit of wine into his goblet, he cradled the girl with one arm while forcing a bit of the liquid down her throat with his other hand upon the cup. Fiona Hay was going to meet her liability to him, but perhaps he could go a bit more slowly with her. She coughed, pushing his hand away, and some of the ruby liquid spilled onto her chest. He had the worst urge to lick it off, but restrained himself lest she swoon again. If a hand upon her shapely bottom could cause her to faint, surely his tongue between her untutored breasts would send her into fits.

“Are ye all right now, lassie?” he asked solicitiously.

Fiona nodded slowly, her head beginning to clear. “I don't know what happened,” she said. “I am not craven,” she defended herself.

“I know,” he said, “but yer a virgin, and don't know what to expect. I was clumsy in my approach, for if the truth were to be known, Fiona Hay, yer a lovely lass, and ye have aroused me.”

“Aroused ye to what?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Ye've aroused my lust,” he said, honestly answering what he realized was an honest question. “I want to couple with ye, lassie.” Gently he cupped one of her breasts, caressing it lightly.

Eyes wide, Fiona stared at his hand, amazed as his long fingers brushed over her skin, sending tiny tingles throughout her whole body. It was certainly not an unpleasant sensation, she mused, wondering at the same time what he expected of her. Their eyes met as she looked into his face. It was a strong face. Long in shape with a cleft in his chin and an aquiline nose. His cheekbones were high, his eyelids heavy, his mouth a narrow elongation.

His hand moved up from her breast to take her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. He brushed his lips across hers, and she caught her breath softly. Angus Gordon smiled, and the smile extended to his dark green eyes. “Yer not afraid, are ye, lassie?”

“I never imagined …” Fiona carefully considered her words. “I don't know what to expect, my lord, but it would seem that if I please ye, then ye will please me.”

He couldn't help but grin at her. This was hardly the sort of conversation he had expected to have with the brazen hussy in the midst of his seduction. “Ye talk too much, lassie,” he said even as his mouth took firm possession of hers. He kissed her hard, wanting her to understand that he would not be deterred in his purpose to have her maidenhead. Holding the naked little witch in his arms, he could hardly resist her as it was. She smelled delicious, and her skin was silken and
sweetly resilient beneath his touch. He pulled the pins from her hair, then let it tumble around his hands.

It was her first real kiss, and it was wonderful, Fiona thought as she let herself drift within the security of his strong arms. Her belly kept knotting and unknotting. She was being assailed by a hundred different sensations. The kiss was harsh, yet it was sweet. Her mouth softened beneath his instinctively, her lips parting, their breaths mingling. She sighed as the pleasure deepened. Whatever had caused her to faint earlier had been dispelled in the magic of his kiss. Finally he broke off the ardent embrace, for he knew she had much to learn.

Fiona stared into his face. “’Twas verra nice, my lord. I like this kissing. Did I do it well? I haven't done it before, but it seems to come naturally to a body.”

His breeks had never seemed so tight. Laying her back upon the bed, he stood and began to divest himself of the remainder of his garments. “Aye,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face, “kissing is a most natural thing, and ye do it well, lassie.” He pulled his boots, hose, and breeks off. He kept his face impassive as his drawers fell to the floor. He kicked them aside as her eyes widened, although she said nothing.

Could a man be called beautiful, Fiona wondered? His limbs were long and straight, and pleasingly curved where they should be. He had nicely shaped buttocks, round yet firm. He turned back to her, slipping again onto the bed. Fiona glimpsed his male appendage, pale and bobbing from a nest of curls as dark as her own. He saw where her glance had fastened itself.

“Are ye afeared again, lassie?” he asked her in a quiet voice. “Ye don't have to be afraid of it, ye know. He's a braw fellow, my Gordie is, and will give ye much pleasure once he's become acquainted with ye.”

To his utter amazement Fiona reached out and
touched his manhood, her face thoughtful as well as curious. He flinched with surprise, and she said in a serious voice, “Does it hurt when I touch it?”

“No.”

“Then why did ye start?”

“I would not have thought a virgin so curious.”

“Do virgins usually quail at the sight of yer Gordie, then?”

Her fingers slid along his length, and he swallowed hard.

“I don't recall,” he muttered.

He felt as hard as iron and near to bursting beneath her gentle yet bestirring touch. Her boldness was confusing to him. It wasn't that he wanted her shrieking and swooning with fear, but should not a virgin be more respectful of his male member? Just a few moments ago she had fainted at his touch, and now here she was, boldly stroking him with fingers as skilled as any whore's. He would have remonstrated with her but that he could see her actions were actually born of curiosity, and the fact that she truly did not know how a respectable lass should behave in such a situation.

His fingers closed tightly about her wrist. “Enough, lassie. Yer touch sets me afire with lust.” He pushed her back into the pillows, kissing her hard again.

Fiona pulled her head away. “Show me where it goes,” she demanded of him.

‘Jesu Christus!” Angus exploded. “Is there not any delicacy in ye, lassie? What kind of thing is that to ask a man?”

“I don't like the uncertainty,” Fiona told him. “Ye kiss me and ye caress me till I can bear it no longer! Will ye not take my maidenhead and be done with it, my lord?”

She was afraid!
He realized it in that brief moment,
but of course she would deny it and claim once again that she was not craven. He moved his body so that it was partly covering hers. His hand gently touched her cheek. “When a man makes love with a woman, lassie,” he began, “it should not be a quick coupling. There is little pleasure in quick coupling. Particularly the first time. It should be slow, and hot, and verra sweet between them.” His lips brushed her lips and then her purpled eyelids. His hand plunged into the mass of her dark hair, taking a fistful of it up, inhaling the clean fragrance of it against his nose.