Captured by the Highlander (22 page)

Shortly after midnight, Amelia heard a sound in the corridor.

Her
belly
exploded with nervous butterflies, but she made a silent vow that she would not cower. She would enjoy this and focus on the pleasures, of which she knew there would be many. She’d already experienced a number of them in the mountains, and her passion for Duncan was part of the reason why she’d accepted his proposal in the first place.

But there would be pain when she gave up her virginity tonight. She knew that, too. He was a generously proportioned and virile man. She sat up in the bed and hoped she would be able to accommodate him.

The fire had died down and raindrops pelted against the window. The room was lit by a single candle on the bedside table. It flickered when a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and Duncan strode in, carrying a candelabra with half a dozen candles. Shadows swung across the scarlet-draped
wall
s. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, set the candles down on the
tall
chest of drawers, and looked at her.

He
still
wore his dinner attire—the black velvet coat with silver trimmings, gray waistcoat, and a white shirt with a ruffled lace
collar
and cuffs. His hair, however, was
falling
loose upon his shoulders in wild disarray, and for the first time since her arrival at the castle she felt as if she were looking at the rugged Highlander who had abducted her from her bed at the fort.

She wet her lips and tried to focus on something other than the rising tide of her apprehensions.

“Are you ready for me, lass?” he asked,
still
standing just inside the door.

Remembering her previous resolution to be brave, she said matter-of-factly,
“Yes.”

He approached the bed and shrugged out of his velvet coat. The movement showed his muscular shoulders and male brawn to shocking advantage. He folded the coat and draped it neatly on the back of a chair. Next he removed his waistcoat, then
pulled
his shirt off over his head, and Amelia was arrested on the spot, gazing up at his scarred bare chest and massive upper arms.

“You best be bracing yourself, lassie,” he said, “for the enormity of what you’re about to behold.” His lips curled up in a teasing smile. “Come here now. Unfasten my breeches.”

He held his arms straight out to the sides, and she found herself obeying his commands with curious amusement, for this was
all
new to her, and she did not know what she was supposed to do, or how she should behave.

She slipped out from under the covers and crawled across the bed. Sitting back on her heels at the edge, she released the fastenings on his breeches, which served to keep his enormous erection contained. She
swall
owed hard as the breeches
fell
open and her eyes took in the part of him that would soon break through her tender maidenhead. Her blood began to race.

“Take off your shift,” he gently suggested as he slipped out of his breeches, “and get in the bed, lass. I want to hold you close.”

Seconds later, she was naked beneath the covers, feeling the cool sheets on her sensitive skin, while he slid in next to her. His large,
call
used hand brushed over her bel y, and a flash of excitement lit her senses. She tried to stay calm as he
rolled
on top of her.

She did not spread her legs. He did not ask her to. She became very aware of his muscular inner thigh rubbing against the top of hers, his lips touching her cheeks in teasing, light kisses, then settling deeply, deliciously on her mouth. A tiny moan escaped her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, surprised that she could feel such desire when she was
still
so nervous about what was yet to come.

“Tel me when it is about to happen,” she said, “so that I may prepare myself.”

His lips brushed over her eyelids. “It’s already happening, lass, and don’t worry. You
’ll
be ready. I
’ll
see to it. I
’ll
do nothing in a hurry.”

With that, he bent lower and used his mouth to kiss and caress her breasts, her arms, her bel
l
y, her thighs—

everywhere. His touch was light. His lips were moist, leaving her skin damp and tingly with a trail of sensitivity and rapture.

She, too, caressed his body with her hands. She ran her fingers up and down his battle-scarred back, down to the curve of his muscular buttocks, and lower, to his rock-hard thighs.

It went on for quite some time—this touching and loving in the candlelight—and soon she reached a quiet mood of tranquility, where her body seemed to melt beneath him like hot butter. She wiggled closer. Any rational thoughts seemed hazy and numb.
all
that existed in her mind was an awareness of his hands working over her body and the feel of his hot, bare flesh, tight against her own.

Unconsciously, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, and felt an aching need from within her heated depths. He reached down with his hand and placed himself at her opening.

“You’re slick and ready for me, lass, but you must
tell
me that you want me.” He shifted his hips, positioning himself between her throbbing flesh. “I must have you when you’re
will
ing.”

“Yes, Duncan, I want you.
Please.
”

Something wicked flashed in his eyes.
«Well
, since you’re begging…”

Her hips lifted, and with a deep groan of need he drove forward and plunged some two inches up inside her, stretching and fil
l
ing.

She sucked in a sharp breath of shock, because there was pain. There was most definitely pain. He was very big, and she was tight and untested.

But she wanted it. She wanted
all
of it. And she felt very wanton. She could barely believe this was happening.

It was permission, at last, to surrender.

* * *

Duncan’s whole being shuddered with both ecstasy and agonizing self-restraint as the swol en head of his desire reached only partway into Amelia’s fiery dampness. He wanted to push hard, fast,
all
the way in, to drench himself completely in her silky heat, but the rupture of her maidenhead—along with the sharp cutting of her fingernails into his back—caused him to hold
still
.

She clung to his shoulders. He lay unmoving, suppressing the pounding forces in his head, while he gave her a moment to grow accustomed to the penetration. A tear
spilled
across her temple.

“The pain won’t last,” he said, kissing her on the mouth.

“It’s fine.”

He looked into her eyes. “Aye, it is, lass. It’s more than fine.”

He trembled when he tried to breathe and had to take a moment to recover his capacities. Mere seconds was
all
it required before the pulsing in his loins began again. He pushed forward another inch, withdrew, then slowly thrust in again, steady and deep, until at last he stretched her enough to reach her womb.

She let out a
small
cry. He began to move careful y and gently inside her.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “It
’ll
feel better soon.”

“It feels better already. It feels…”

He buried his face in her hair and whispered huskily,

“What, lass?
tell
me how it feels. I need to know.”

She relaxed as he moved within.
“Exciting.”

It was a good thing, because he was quite sure he couldn’t hold off much longer. There was a storm brewing inside him, and he wanted to thrust into her like a ramming
bull
. He wanted to hear her moan with rapture and delight, and feel her pulse around him as he climaxed mightily inside.

She parted her legs wider and raised her hips to move in harmony with each of his deep, finely tuned penetrations.

Together they bucked and squeezed, seeking pleasures they had both been denying since the moment they first struggled against each other on that rainy field at dawn. There was violence in his movements now, but nothing else about it was the same, for she had final y yielded to him.

Suddenly, with a passionate jolt, Amelia cupped his buttocks and tensed beneath him. Her hips thrust forward savagely, and she gasped. He felt the quick pulsation of her interior, which squeezed around his rigid passions.

Their open mouths col
l
ided, and she twirled her tongue around his. Without further hesitation, he gave in to the heaving pleasures flooding through him, arched his body upward, then pumped into her with a potent gush of release that left him drained.

He
collapsed
on top of her and waited for the rhythm of his body to return to normal while struggling to make sense of this strange joy, when not so long ago his world had been reduced to rubble and he’d given up on any hope of restoration.

He felt stronger tonight, yet at the same time he wanted to be gentle. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps his cruelty could be tempered.

He
rolled
off Amelia and lay on his side, facing her in the dim light. She curled up beside him.

“You belong to me, now,” he said. “No other man
shall
ever have you.”

“Yes,” she replied in a cool, somewhat distant voice that quavered with uncertainty. “I am yours. And I confess, I am not sorry. It makes no sense. I hated you not long ago. You hated me, too, when I ran from you. Is this some kind of madness? Did you do something to me?”

“Aye, I did, lass. And I
’ll
be doing it again as soon as you’re
will
ing.”

She laughed, and for a while they lay quietly in the dim light, running their fingertips lightly across each other’s bodies; then Duncan rose from the bed and crossed the room. Amelia leaned up on an elbow to admire his glorious nude form, gleaming with perspiration. He picked up a brass snuffer and put out the candles he had brought with him.

It was suddenly dark in the crimson bedchamber. Amelia held out her arm.

“I think I am
willing
now,” she said.

“As am I.” He returned to the bed and climbed in.

They slept very little that night.

Fort William, the following day, late afternoon
His Grace, the Duke of Winslowe, was enjoying a fine glass of brandy in his private chamber when a young soldier knocked on the door and entered with a letter, which he delivered to the duke on a shiny silver salver.

His Grace swept the letter off the plate, dismissed the man, then broke the seal and unfolded it. He squinted irritably, huffed in frustration, then searched his pockets for his spectacles, stuck them on his bulbous nose, and began to read.

When he came to the end of the elegantly penned correspondence, he tore the curly wig off his head and chucked it on the floor, as if it were suddenly infested with lice. “Good Lord.
Thomas! Thomas!
”

His
tall
, gangly valet came running into the room. “Yes, Your Grace?”

The duke rose from his chair. “It’s Lady Amelia. She has been found! Pack everything immediately. We must travel to Moncrieffe Castle and leave within the hour.”

“Pray God she is safe and unharmed.”

The duke reached for his glass and tossed back the rest of the brandy in a single gulp. “My word, the whole world has turned upside down on its ear.”

“How so, Your Grace?”

The duke stared at his devoted valet in utter disbelief and shook the letter in the air. “The Earl of Moncrieffe has asked for Lady Amelia’s hand in marriage.”

Thomas froze. “But she is already engaged to Colonel Bennett.”

“I am quite aware of that, Thomas. I am not an imbecile.

That is why I shouted your name twice just now. We must reach the castle as quickly as possible.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” Thomas swept His Lordship’s wig off the floor, brushed it free of dust, and hastened from the room.

The duke rubbed a hand over his natural white hair—

which stood on end in frizzy disarray—and
strolled
to the window. He looked out at the Scottish countryside and watched a line of soldiers training in the field.

“I believe that when I meet that man at last,” he quietly said, “I
will
be tempted to brain him with a bottle of his own whisky. I don’t care how fine it is. That man deserves a good thump on the head for taking so bloody long to declare himself.”