Betrayed (8 page)

Fiona shifted nervously like a mare newly brought to the harness. Why did his voice sound so intense? Why did her breasts ache and her nipples feel so irritated against his smooth chest? His presence was suddenly very overwhelming. She bit her lip in her effort not to cry out. Her eyes closed as if in doing so she could shut this all out, but the very scent of his masculinity assailed her nostrils. It was a powerful and exciting fragrance that seemed to call out to something equally primitive within her. Her hands smoothed slowly over his shoulders.

He kissed her again, but this time he gently forced her lips open and pushed his tongue past her teeth to find her tongue. Fiona shivered violently as their tongues touched, sleeking back and forth, intertwining in an amorous first mating. She sighed and arched her body, pressing it more tightly into his.

“Ummm, ’Tis nice,” she murmured against his mouth. “Ah!” she sighed as he broke off the kiss, his lips spreading kisses across her smooth chest and down to cover her breasts. Her belly contracted almost painfully as his mouth fastened itself over a nipple, tongue teasing tenderly, lips drawing gently upon her flesh. “Oh!” she half moaned.
“Oh!”
His fingers were teasing
the curls on her Venus mons, pushing between her nether lips.

“This is where it will go, lassie,” he told her, raising his head from her sweet young breasts. Gently a single digit invaded her now trembling body, pushing itself carefully into a place she had not until just a moment ago even known existed. Reaching the barrier of her maidenhead, he stopped, withdrawing the finger slowly.

Fiona's eyes were wide with a mixture of shock, surprise, and a budding desire. “Yer Gordie is too braw a fellow to go where ye just went with yer wicked finger,” she told him.

“Nay, lassie,” he reassured her. “Yer wee slit will open herself wide so my Gordie may forage in yer honey-pot for its sweetness.” His dark head moved down her torso, spreading kisses as it went. Once again his finger slipped through her nether lips, this time touching her in another place she hadn't before known. “’Tis yer sugar button,” he told her, teasing at the small fleshy nub.

Fiona's head whirled with shock as a wave of delight spread over her entire body, rendering it weak with her pleasure. How was a finger capable of giving her such enjoyment?

“Don't stop!” she begged him, a burst of stars exploding behind her eyelids. “Oh. Ah.
Ah!”
She was suddenly weak with gratification.

“So ye like that, do ye?” he murmured low as he swung himself over her slender frame. He spread her thighs with firm hands, and then, while she was still in the throes of dawning awareness, he grasped his manhood, positioned it, and leaning forward over her, pushed firmly into her body. She opened for him like a fragrant flower, encasing him inch by inch within her velvet sheath. Angus Gordon groaned with anticipation.

She felt
it. It
pressed relentlessly into her, thick and
hot, driving deep. Fiona had never imagined such an invasion of herself. Instinctively, she stiffened.

“No, no lassie,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Don't fight me now. Ah, yer sweet! Sweet!”

He pushed onward, finally meeting with the barrier between Fiona Hay's girlhood and womanhood. Swiftly, he crossed it, thrusting as far as he could, then resting.

She felt a sharp sting of pain that spread down into her thighs and up into her chest, rendering her breathless for a long moment—and then the burning melted away. Fiona gasped, drawing a great draught of air into her lungs, which she almost immediately expelled. “Does it hurt all the time?” she managed to ask, finding it impossible to understand why
anyone
would enjoy
this
if it did.

There was an almost pained expression in his eyes. “No, lassie,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her softly. He began to move upon her, pinioning her lightly, his big hands pressing down upon her wrists on either side of her head. With an almost primitive instinct she began to move in rhythm with him. He stared down into her face, amazed at the savage beauty of it as she began to experience passion. He was surprised that despite her inexperience he was finding great pleasure in coupling with this girl. The tightness in his groin was building and building.

The pain gone, Fiona closed her eyes again. The deed was done, and her virginity shattered. There really had been nothing to be afraid of, and she began to relax, joining him in the erotic cadence he created. She broke his fight grip and put her arms about him, drawing him closer to her. The stars were beginning to sparkle behind her eyelids again, and a feeling of growing exhilaration began to fill her entire being. She cried
out, and his mouth descended fiercely upon hers, intensifying her euphoria. She could feel him, hard and demanding within her. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Ah! Ah!
Ah!”
she sobbed, and then she sensed the impending burst of his lust, and his juices flooded her, mingling with her virgin's blood. In that instant Fiona soared, her heart beating wildly, clinging to him.
It was wonderful!
She drifted mindlessly for what seemed several minutes, aware of their ragged breathing, aware that their bodies felt hot and wet, and were still intertwined. Finally he withdrew from her, lifting himself off her body, his big hand tenderly smoothing the tangle of hair from her face. Fiona opened her eyes and looked up into his face.

“Ye were verra braw, lassie,” he told her with a small smile.

She smiled back. “Yer satisfied, then, that I was indeed a virgin, and my debt is paid to ye, my lord?” Fiona said mischievously.

“Ye were a virgin, lassie,” he agreed, “but ye have just begun to pay yer debt to me. Have I not warned ye that twenty head of cattle are verra expensive? Yer a brazen little thief, Fiona Hay, and I'll have my full measure of ye. I'll give ye and yer sisters yer living free, for I owe that to yer grandsire Hay, but the cattle are another matter.”

“Yer a hard man,” Fiona said softly.

‘Jesu!” he swore as softly. “Is there no end to yer wiles, lassie? Yer flirting with me.”

“I don't have any knowledge about being a man's mistress,” she answered him pertly. “Is a mistress not permitted to flirt with her lord? At least in the privacy of their chamber?” Her dark eyelashes fluttered at him wickedly, and her mouth was suddenly pouty.

“I don't know the rules of this game we play myself,
lassie,” he responded with a chuckle. “I've never kept a mistress.”

“I suppose ’Tis no different than keeping a wife,” Fiona said, “except, of course, ’Tis not respectable to be a man's mistress.”

“It is not respectable to steal a man's cattle either,” he reminded her with a grin, then ducked as Fiona whacked him with a pillow. Angus Gordon climbed from the bed. “’Tis time ye got some sleep, lassie,” he told her, and drew the coverlet over her.

“Do ye not sleep here with me, my lord?” she asked, puzzled.

“No, lassie, this is yer private chamber. Mine is through the door beneath the tapestry where I entered.”

“But I've never slept alone before!” Fiona wailed. “I have always slept with my sisters. Stay with me, my lord!”

“Until ye fall asleep,” he agreed. “In a few days ye'll be used to having yer own chamber, and ye'll like yer privacy.”

Dubious, Fiona nestled against him tightly when he climbed back into the bed. He smiled to himself. On one hand she was fearless, and on the other she was like a small child, afraid to be alone. He was silent, his arm about her, and gradually he felt her relax. When she was sleeping peacefully, he slipped carefully from her bed. He saw the bloody stains upon her slender thighs and upon the sheets beneath her. He almost felt guilty as he drew the coverlet back over her. Bending to blow out the candle by the bed, he had second thoughts and left it burning. Then, going to the fireplace, he added more peat. At least if she awoke it would not be in total cold darkness in this unfamiliar chamber. He gazed down on her a final time before stealing through the door that connected their two chambers.

“Fi!Fi!
Wake up!”

Fiona Hay dimly heard the voices of her two younger sisters. Her arm was tugged quite rudely. She turned over, grumbling.

“Oh,
our Jeannie!” Morag's voice piped, shocked. “She isn't wearing any shift! ’Tis not nice to be naked.”

Fiona opened catlike eyes and glared at her smallest sister. She felt somewhat stiff, and the place between her legs was slightly sore. She needed more sleep, and yet here were these two troublesome wenches demanding her attention. “What do ye want?” she growled at the pair.

Morag stepped back at her elder's tone, but Jeannie wasn't in the least intimidated.

“The laird's elder sister, Lady Stewart,” Jean said, “is down in the hall, and she's demanding to see himself. Jamie-boy says it's because of ye. We'll not learn anything if we canna listen. Get up, Fi, and put some clothes on this minute! Black Angus is dressing. They say he respects Lady Stewart greatly.”

Fiona was puzzled.
“Black Angus?”

“’Tis what he is called for his black, black hair,” Morag volunteered.

“Take Morag and wait outside,” Fiona instructed Jeannie. She didn't want either girl to see the stains upon her legs or the bedclothes. They would only ask for explanations they were too young to hear. She waited
until the two girls had departed the chamber, and then threw back the coverlet and leapt from the bed.

There was a kettle of water warming over the fire. Obviously Nelly had already been into the chamber. Fiona poured some of the water into a small polished brass basin, and taking up a cloth set next to it, she first washed her face, then scrubbed the dried blood from her person. There was a clean soft cotton shift laid out next to her skirts, which had obviously been well brushed, and her blouse was freshly laundered. A pair of sewn stockings, the first Fiona had ever owned, were laid across her boots. They fit to above her knees and had plain ribbon garters. She pulled them on, affixing the garters tightly, imagining her embarrassment should the stockings droop or fall. Janet Stewart would think her a little savage. She had finished dressing when Nelly entered the room.

“Oh, lady, yer up, and ye've dressed yerself! Don't let me aunt Una know, or she'll scold me for not doing my duty,” the girl begged.

“I'm only awake because my sisters came to tell me the laird's sister is below,” Fiona answered.

“Aye,” Nelly said. “The laird is a wee bit afeared of her. She's just two years younger than he is. My aunt says they fought like cat and dog when they were growing up. ’Tis fortunate, my aunt says, she wasn't a lad, or they might have killed each other.” Nelly chuckled.

“I want to listen,” Fiona said in conspiratorial tones to her new servant. “Has the laird gone down yet?”

“Just now,” Nelly replied, her eyes twinkling. “Come on, and I'll show ye where ye may hear them.” She beckoned Fiona, and hurried from the chamber.

Jeannie and Morag were still outside, and at a signal from their elder sister they followed wordlessly as
Nelly led them quickly down the stairs, through the corridor, and toward the hall. When they had almost reached the hall, Nelly turned down a narrow passageway, drawing them into a small room. Finger to her lips, she crossed the chamber and cracked open a small sliding panel.

“’Tis how we know when to serve and what is needed without being told,” she said. “Come, lady, ye can hear everything.”

Fiona peered into the hall. She could see Angus Gordon pouring a goblet of wine for a tall attractive woman.

“There ye are, Janet,” he said, and Fiona heard him quite clearly. “What brings ye to Brae, sister? I hope Hamish and the children are well.”

“I was at Glenkirk visiting our uncle, the laird,” she replied. “Did ye really think that the priest would not gossip, Angus?”

“What priest?” he asked her, sipping from his goblet.

“The one that came from the abbey to oversee the marriages of the two little Hay girls to the Innes and the Forbes lads. Ye've caused a fine scandal, Angus Gordon! Where are Mistress Fiona Hay and her sisters? Oh, how could ye? What an infamous arrangement ye made with that poor innocent lassie. Ye'll have to wed her now-and perhaps something good will come of yer conduct, for ’Tis certainly past time ye were married. Oh, Robert sends his regards to ye, and says he'll pray to the Blessed Virgin that ye'll turn from yer wicked ways.”

“Who is Robert?” Fiona whispered to Nelly.

“The second brother” Nelly replied. “He's four years younger than the laird. He went to the abbey
when he was ten and became a priest three years ago. Isn't Lady Stewart lovely?”

Fiona nodded. Angus Gordon's sister had shining black-brown hair in a braided arrangement. She was very fair, and her bright blue eyes snapped as she berated her elder brother for his outrageous behavior.

“Marry the wench?” the,
laird said, surprised. “Why would I marry the wench? She stole my cattle, and we made an arrangement that she pay for them in the only way she could. I don't want to marry anyone, Jan. I'm quite happy as I am, and besides, I'm too young.”