Carnal Gift (26 page)

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Authors: Pamela Clare

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Carnal Gift
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She felt her anger gather strength. “You kidnapped me, took me from my home and kin.”
“Aye. Of that, I am guilty.”
“You tied me, hurt me.” This was not entirely true, as she herself had made the knots tight with her struggling. An emotion that might have been regret flickered through his eyes. “And for that I am deeply sorry.” Slowly he lifted the wrist he held to his lips, kissed it where it had once been bound.
Sparks skittered up her skin, ignited her fury. “Stop it! I cannot bear your touch when I know you spent last night with a whore!”
Chapter Twenty-one
The look on Jamie’s face was one of complete astonishment.
Then he did something she never would have expected. He tossed his head back and laughed. The richness of his voice filled the room like golden light. “How did you hear about that?”
“You don’t deny it?” Her heart fell.
“No. I did, indeed, spend all of last night in the company of a whore, though out of respect for her, I prefer to call her a courtesan.”
“Respect?” Jamie’s words shocked her, fueled her anger. She tried to jerk her wrist from his grasp, failed. “You bastard! You try to seduce me, spend your lust on her, then come to my room seeking company?” He pinned her arms against his chest with one arm, encircled her waist with the other to stop her struggling. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I said I spent the night with her. I didn’t say I spent it
inside
her. Would you like the truth, love?”
She glared up at him, fought to suppress the wrenching pain in her heart. “Don’t call me that! I am
not
your love!” He bent closer, until his lips were mere inches from hers. “The truth is I went to Turlington’s seeking a bit of bed sport, but once there I found I had no appetite for the ladies, because my mind was filled with thoughts of you,
a
Bhrighid.”
What had he said? Brighid struggled to comprehend his words.
“No appetite for the ladies.”
“My mind was filled with thoughts of you.”
“You didn’t...” Her words trailed off. An emotion that could only be relief rushed through her. “No, I didn’t.” His gaze held hers unwaveringly. Until it fell to her lips.
She tingled in anticipation of his kiss, ached for it.
It never came.
He released her. “Dinner is getting cold.” Still taken aback, she followed him to where their dinner waited before the fire, sat in one of the two chairs. He hadn’t lain with another woman because he’d been thinking of her.
Why should this news fill her with such relief? “I hope you like roast of beef.” His voice seemed strained.
“Aye.” Brighid spread her napkin on her lap as Heddy had shown her, stared at the daunting array of forks, knives, spoons, and glasses on the silver tray. He’d been thinking of her.
He thought of her throughout the dinner. He marveled at the beauty of her face in firelight, the innate sensuality of her movements. He watched, fascinated, as she tried to use the right silverware. He reveled in her childlike joy at the meal as servants brought one course after the next—oysters on the shell, roast beef, puddings, sweetmeats, pastries, jellies, fruits, and nuts. He observed, enchanted, as wine gave her silky skin a rosy glow. He ached with need when a drop of juice from a pear beaded on her upper lip, longed to taste her.
It was but one of many places his tongue longed to taste.
“It is true Cook has a way with food, but she wastes so much. I saw her toss potato coats in the slop bucket, so I did!” She looked at him, sapphire eyes wide at this most shocking transgression. “I thought to speak to Elizabeth, warn her that Cook is wasting food, but I didn’t want to cause poor Cook trouble.”
Jamie fought back a smile. “That is thoughtful of you, but I’m sure Cook is following Elizabeth’s instructions on such matters.”
Then it occurred to Jamie that in her world, potato peels were a meal. Brighid had never seen such a feast as this. Instead she’d seen hunger and deprivation, starvation and death.
Never again.
It was a vow, a pledge. She had suffered enough. She would suffer no more.
Jamie knew he had to tell her. He might as well tell her now. “I have word from Ireland.”
Her fork clattered as it fell from her hand to her plate. She met his gaze, her eyes filled with fear. “How are—“ “Your brothers are well and on their way to County Clare.” He thought he’d tell her the good news first. “Fionn sent Rhuaidhri the morning after he got my message. If things have gone as planned, Fionn is on his way there now with Muirin and Aidan.”
He could see relief wash over her.
She gave a sigh, then looked at him curiously. “How do you know this?”
Jamie lifted his port, took a sip. “My man Travis, the one you met at the inn in Baronstown, is keeping an eye on them and sent me a letter.”
“I see.”
It was time for the bad news. “In his letter, Travis also wrote that the earl came across the cottage the day after we ... after I took you away. He had men with him—and dogs.”
Her face lost its color, and her hands began to tremble.
She clasped them together in her lap.
“There’s more. Before finding the cottage, Sheff... the earl paid Fionn a visit.”
She gasped, her eyes wide.
Jamie touched a reassuring hand to her cheek. “Fionn is going to be fine, but the earl’s men were rough with him. Travis found him unconscious in the snow and cared for him until Muirin arrived.”
Brighid stood, walked a distance away from the table, a bit dizzy from the wine. The
iarla
had found the cottage. His men had gone after Fionn, had beat him. Rhuaidhri was on his way to Clare. Fionn was going to be fine. She struggled to grasp all that Jamie had told her. In the muddle of emotion, two things became clear to her. The first was that her brothers were safe. Saints be praised! How she had worried about them these past days!
The second was that Jamie had once again put himself between her and danger. He had kept the
iarla
from her a second time. Because of him, she was safe. Because of him, her brothers were safe.
To think she had cursed him, had fought with him. Had he left her behind as she’d demanded, she’d now be .. . She didn’t want to think about that. She felt Jamie come up behind her, turned to face him, met his gaze, his eyes full of concern. “Thank you, Jamie.” She wanted to say so much more, couldn’t find the words.
His thumb caressed her cheek. “Tfailte romhat.” You’re welcome.
She didn’t know if it was the wine or the overwhelming relief, but she suddenly wanted him to touch her. “Kiss me.”
Lust, like a hungry wolf, howled inside him. His heart slammed in his chest. His blood grew hot, thick. He wrapped one arm around her tiny waist, cupped her face with his other hand.
She closed her eyes, gave a little sigh of pleasure, as his thumb traced her lower lip. Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, igniting his skin. Then she took his thumb into her mouth, sucked.
Her response, utterly innocent and completely seductive, was nearly his undoing.
In an instant, his cock was granite, straining against his breeches. The breath rushed from his lungs. His thoughts became nothing more than a distant buzz. Some predatory part of him knew he could take her now. He could carry her to the bed, strip silk and linen from her delectable body, bury himself within her. He could touch and taste and take her at his leisure. She would not resist him.
But that was not why he had come to her. Pulling away from her was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done. “No, Brighid. We cannot.” Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, disappointment and longing in her eyes. “But I want you to kiss me.”
He groaned, pulled her arms from around his neck, kissed the backs of her hands. She had no idea what she was doing to him. “That’s the wine talking, love. Besides, it’s time for you to open your first Christmas gift.”
“Christmas gift? But—“
“It is Christmas Eve, is it not?” Jamie called for the servants to clear away the dishes, silently cursing his lack of a waistcoat or frock. He was still hard as steel, a fact that would be evident to anyone who glanced at him. He turned toward the fireplace, leaned on outstretched arms against the mantelpiece, pretended to contemplate the blaze, as servants bustled in and left again. “Now, Master Blakewell?” Heddy stood in the doorway. Jamie took a deep breath, willed his troublesome member into a docile state. “Not quite yet, Heddy.” He turned to find Brighid standing where he’d left her, a look of bewilderment on her lovely face. He guided her into her chair. “Sit, love. And close your eyes until I tell you to open them.”
She gazed up at him, a mix of doubt and excitement in her eyes. “Jamie?”
He bent, whispered in her ear, “Trust me.” The last time he’d asked her to trust him, she’d pummeled his chest and cursed him. This time, her lids closed, lashes sweeping shadows across her cheeks. “No peeking.” Jamie strode to the door, took the heavy gift from Heddy.
He turned to find Brighid sitting with hands fisted in her lap, eyes still closed, her body tense with excitement. “Remember, don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.” He walked back to her, laid the gift across her lap. He took one of her hands, placed it on top. “Feel it, love. Tell me what it is.”
He watched as her fingers ran timidly at first over the soft fur, then delved into its thickness. Her lips—how he wanted to kiss them!—curved into an uninhibited smile. “Tis fur. Oh.’tis wondrous soft!”
“You may open your eyes, my sweet.” Brighid opened her eyes, gasped. It was not just fur, but a long, fur-lined cloak of light smoky gray. “Jamie!”
“It is blue fox.” He gazed warmly at her, and she was reminded of the portrait of him as a little boy downstairs. Never had she imagined receiving such a gift. Never had she touched anything so fine. It was too much. She could not accept—
Before she could finish her thought, Jamie held up a fur muff to match the cloak, laid it in her lap. She shook her head even as she slid her hands inside the muff’s comforting warmth. “Tis most grateful I am, Jamie, but I cannot possibly accept—“
“Why not?”
She thought. Hard.
Why not?
“I am no fine lady, Jamie. I’m nothin’ more than an Irish farm girl and have no business paradin’ around in blue foxes.” “Is that your only objection?” He smiled, his lips curving into a damnably handsome smile, cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not impressed. Stand, and let me see it on you.” Her mind whirled with half-formed protests, but it was hard to think with him so near. She stood, her hands still in the muff, her arms pressing the cloak to her breast. Jamie slipped the cloak from her grasp, wrapped it around her shoulders, fastened the ornate brass toggle at her throat. Then he brushed a finger along her cheek, met her gaze with a look so intense it made her heartbeat trip. “If I have anything to say about it, Brighid Ni Maelsechnaill, you will never be cold again.”
The warmth of his words mingled with the luxurious warmth of the cloak. It was like being wrapped in happiness. She couldn’t help smiling.
The cloak fell to just above her ankles. It was both lined and trimmed with thick, blue-gray fur that felt soft against her cheek. The side of the cloak that faced outward was covered with silk the same shade of gray as the fur and embroidered with small, golden lilies of the valley. She didn’t realize it had a hood until Jamie pulled it over her head.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. “Let’s see you.” Jamie motioned for her to turn in a circle.
She’d taken but a few steps when her gaze fell on the single candle burning in the window. She froze, a sick feeling in her belly.
The moment stretched into silence.
“What does the candle mean?” His hands cupped her shoulders reassuringly from behind.
“Tis a Christmas custom.” She tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “Tis how we welcome the Holy Family and all lost and traveling souls on Christmas Eve. When someone is away from home . . .” She could not finish her words. Tears pricked behind her eyes.
“You miss your brothers.” It wasn’t a question. He said the words as if he understood.
But there was more to it than that. How could she explain? “I cannot do this, Jamie.”
His hands slid down the cloak over the length of her arms, sought her hands in the folds of fur. He turned her to face him, lifted her chin until she met his gaze. She could see a torrent of emotion in his eyes. “What can’t you do, Brighid? Accept a gift from me?” “How can I enjoy such comfort when my brothers do not?” She pulled away from him, took several hurried steps toward the bed. “How can I dine on such food while they struggle to fill their bellies? How can I sleep in this soft bed when they sleep in straw?”
Jamie heard the remorse in her voice. He walked over to where she stood, pulled her gently against him, felt her surrender to his embrace. “What good can you do your brothers by denying the comforts I offer? You cannot help Fionn and Rhuaidhri by depriving yourself, Brighid. Do you not think they would rest more easily if they knew you were warm and safe and eating well?” He pressed his lips against her temple.

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