Carnal Gift (36 page)

Read Carnal Gift Online

Authors: Pamela Clare

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Carnal Gift
10.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
And what if Jamie were caught? He’d likely be hanged alongside Rhuaidhri. For that reason, Jamie had already made certain changes to his will.
He wished Travis were on hand, as a second set of eyes, ears, and weapons would be helpful. But Jamie didn’t expect him back for another two weeks, and he didn’t have time to wait.
He hadn’t told Brighid that Sheff had her brother. He hadn’t told her about Sheff s accusation. He didn’t want to upset her. Nor did he want to make her an accomplice by telling her what he planned to do—or inspire her to try some scheme of her own. The less she knew, the safer she was.
He reached the top of the stairs, made straight for Brighid’s closed door. He opened it as quietly as he could, expecting to find her asleep. He heard her gasp, caught a glimpse of rosy flesh as she sank deeper into her bath, her eyes wide with surprise. All the strain and pressure he’d been feeling dissipated. “This is the second time I’ve interrupted your bath.”
Had she been crying?
Upon seeing it was he, she sat up, smiled, and leaned back lazily against the tub, until her breasts rose just above the water’s surface. “You’re just in time to wash my
back,
Sasanach.”
“Is that so?” Jamie felt a stirring in his blood, tried to ignore it. She had just recovered from being shot. She ought not to squander her strength on love play. He doffed his waistcoat, removed his shirt so as not to get it wet, strode over to the tub. He felt the heat of her gaze as she looked up at him. An answering heat flared in his veins. He knelt beside the tub, reached for her little bar of lavender soap. The scent was irresistibly feminine. She leaned forward, exposed the delicate curves of her back. “How did things go today?”
Jamie dipped his hands into the warm water to wet them, lifted the heavy mass of her wet hair aside, rubbed the soap on her soft skin. “The bill passed, but we didn’t get everything we wanted—not yet.”
“Will you be tryin’ again?”
Her skin felt like silk beneath his hands, and Jamie found it increasingly difficult to think. “I’ve played my part. Alec’s allies will handle matters from here on.” Jamie rinsed the soap away, then leaned down to place a kiss on the wet curve of her shoulder. Her head tilted to the side, baring the curve of her neck.
“Is it soon you’ll be leavin’?”
Jamie painted a line of kisses from her shoulder to the spot just beneath her ear, felt her shiver, ignored the throb in his groin. Was that sadness he heard beneath the feigned indifference in her voice? “I still have some business to complete. I don’t imagine I shall be ready to sail for home for perhaps another month. Are you that eager to get rid of me?”
He’d said the words in jest, but the moment he’d heard them he realized he wanted an answer, needed an answer. In the weeks since they’d become lovers, she had never once told him how she felt about him. He knew she trusted him. He knew she enjoyed spending time with him—riding, playing billiards, discussing history. He knew, too, she enjoyed making love with him. She responded to his touch as if she’d been made just for him, her hunger a perfect match for his. In truth, he’d never met a more passionate woman.
But, as he well knew, passion was not love. For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer him. Then he felt her body shudder, heard a quick, ragged intake of breath.
She was crying.
“Brighid?”
She turned her face toward him, met his gaze. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Then she smiled, a weak, sad smile. ‘Tou silly
Sasanach.
I’m not after gettin’ rid of you at all!”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but Jamie would take it. She was sad about the thought of him leaving—surely a good thing. But if events unfolded as he planned, there would be no reason for tears.
He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek, and, without thinking, kissed her tears away. He meant only to comfort, but at first contact, desire slammed into him, hard and hot. He felt the heat, knew she felt it, too.
“Jamie?”
“Aye, my sweet?”
“Love me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
Brighid watched as he stood and stripped off his waistcoat, shirt, and breeches, dropped them casually on the floor. She ran her gaze over the lines of his naked body, tried to memorize each ridge, each hollow, the tawny glow of his skin, the power of his erection.
One month. One precious month.
She would not waste time on crying, not when the man she loved was right beside her. She would savor every moment, every touch. She would force tomorrow’s woes to wait until this day was done.
Jamie stepped into her bath, lowered himself until he sat in front of her, pulled her gently into his lap. His voice was deep, husky. “Wrap your legs around me.” She felt his arms enfold her, closed her eyes “Oh, Jamie!” “Let me taste you.” His mouth found the sensitive skin beneath her ear, nibbled until she shivered with pleasure. Then his lips brushed teasingly over hers, his touch soft and furtive. His full kiss, when it finally came, was hot, deep, slow.
She felt her hunger for him rise, ran her hand over his wet, naked skin, desperate for the hard feel of the man she loved. Then his hands moved to cup her breasts, and she forgot everything but the heat of his touch. “Aye, Jamie!”
Jamie watched the arousal on her sweet face, ignored his own raging need, her pleasure fueling his own. He wanted to wash away her tears, to bring her pleasure. He caressed her breasts, teasing their tight, rosy crests until she whimpered her frustration. And then, when her whimpers became throaty moans, he bent forward, took a taut bud into his mouth, suckled her.
He felt her fingers clench in his hair, felt her hips shift in the water, a sensual undulation that bespoke her sexual need. She was ripe. She was ready for him. “Oh, Jamie, I want you! Now!” She pressed her sex against his.
He groaned, his restraint gone, lifted her until his cock was poised at her entrance. Their moans mingled as, wet and hot, she slid smoothly down the length of his shaft. She felt so good, so tight. She was the only woman he wanted, the only woman he would ever want. She was his beginning, his end. She was the woman he loved. “Oh, God, Brighid!”
Brighid clung to him, as he rocked his hips, thrust into her, filled her with each slow stoke. Their bodies, wet and warm, were pressed so closely together she could scarce tell where she ended and Jamie began. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast, feel him move deep inside her. If felt so good, so good.
“Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!” His name was sacred litany as ecstasy claimed her.
Once, twice, three times he brought her to her peak. Then, as her body quivered with pleasure, he groaned, thrust hard, and poured his essence into her. For a long time afterward, they held each other in silence, Brighid’s head against his shoulder, his hands stroking her wet hair.
And Brighid found herself wishing she knew some magic that could keep them in this moment forever.
Sweet Mary, how she loved him! “Jamie?”
“Aye, love?”
She hesitated. “These weeks with you have been the happiest of my life. No matter what else comes, I want you to know that.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then his lips pressed a kiss against her still damp hair. “Tis the same for me.” “And, Jamie?”
“Aye, love?”
“Will you take me to Mass on Sunday? I need to go to confession.”
“Aye, love. I suppose that after what we just did, you do.”
Sheff hated Jamie Blakewell. As fond of Jamie as he’d once been, that was how much he hated him now. The bastard had managed to find powerful allies in Lords. Lord Shelbume, the pompous ass, had pushed Jamie’s bill through. The self-satisfied look on Jamie’s face had been enough to make Sheff want to knock Jamie’s teeth down his accursed throat.
Well, the tables would turn soon enough. Sheff had a man watching Jamie’s every move. It wouldn’t be long now before they’d be able to spring their trap. Then Jamie would see exactly who had the power—and the woman.
Chapter Twenty-nine
As the carriage pulled into the alleyway by the Catholic chapel Jamie glanced about to make sure the area safe. Then he lifted Brighid to the ground, careful not to put pressure on her right side. “Here you are—as promised.” “Thank you, Jamie.” She smiled, smoothed her skirts. He put his arm through hers, escorted her over the cobblestones down the narrow passage that led to the chapel, his senses attuned to anything unusual. He had to admit he had misgivings about this. He would much rather she remain safely at home and let Father Owen come to her. Jamie had spent a lot of time with the priest lately and had no doubt the good father would be happy to make the trip himself. Jamie’s generous contribution to the church aside, Father Owen seemed to care deeply about Brighid, as he did all his parishioners, who were scattered around London like lost sheep.
But a promise was a promise, even when exacted by a beautiful temptress who’d just left him senseless and drained from lovemaking.
He opened the door for her, followed her inside. She dipped her finger in the font of holy water, crossed herself, curtsied in the direction of the altar. Then she turned to him, took his hand, gave it a squeeze. “I’ll try not to take too long.”
Jamie shrugged his shoulders, tried to look serious.
“After what we did the other night and this morning—
I’m guessing this could take all afternoon.” “Jamie!” Brighid’s tone of voice told him such things ought not to be mentioned in church. But there was laughter in her eyes and a rosy glow on her cheeks. She turned in a swish of silk, walked toward the back rooms where Father Owen waited to hear her confession. Jamie sat in the back pew, gave his mind over to the preparations he’d been making.
He was ready to leave for Ireland but for one thing. Before he left, he intended to marry Brighid. He had found a way. It meant risking everything. But he had found a way.
All Jamie needed to do was ask the bride. In his more rational moments, Jamie wondered how he could face a dozen armed French soldiers without fear but couldn’t find the courage to ask a petite woman one question.
“Brighid, will you marry me?”
It wasn’t that hard. Five words. One sentence. Surely he had faced more formidable challenges in his life. Jamie couldn’t think of one.
He should ask her tonight. Aye, tonight. He would ask her tonight.
He surfaced from his thoughts, glanced around him. What was taking so long? Parishioners would begin arriving for Mass at any moment.
Jamie stood, paced the back of the tiny chapel, restless.
Still, Brighid did not come out.
As time wore on, his restlessness was replaced by a growing sense of unease. He tried to shake it, told himself he was being foolish. Brighid was alone with a priest.
They were in a chapel in the heart of London. No one had entered since they’d arrived.
Then a terrible possibility occurred to him. His heart gave a violent lurch, one hard hammer strike of dread.
“Brighid!” He turned and ran down the aisle. He’d gone but a few strides when men in the uniform of the London constabulary flowed out of the back room. He halted in his tracks, fists clenched. “Where is she?
And where is Father Owen?”
One of the constable’s men—Jamie counted five—moved toward Jamie, shackles in his hand. “Are you goin’ to come wi’ us easy like, or am I goin’ to have to break your head?”
Then the constable’s men parted, made way for someone else.
Sheff.
“You’d do well to cooperate.” Sheff smiled, motioned the man with the shackles forward. “It will get you the least number of broken bones by day’s end.” The front door of the chapel was kicked open, and several more uniformed men stormed inside. Behind them came the clamor of an approaching mob, shouting their hatred for Catholics.
Jamie was trapped.
Rage flowed through his veins like molten iron. He met Sheff s gaze. “What’s all this, old friend? You couldn’t face me yourself? You had to bribe—“ The heavy iron shackles swung through the air into his Jamie’s gut, knocked the breath from his lungs. The man who wielded the shackles kicked him for good measure. “Hold your tongue, you! Here, lads—have ago.”
The other men rushed forward with cudgels, rained crushing blow after blow on Jamie’s skull and back, drove him to his knees.
A boot rammed into his stomach. “Traitor!” “That’s enough!” Sheff’s voice pierced the pain in Jamie’s head. “Lock him up.”
He saw blood on the floor, his blood. The room spun. He felt cold iron close around his left wrist, then his right, felt the bite of fetters round his ankles. “Get up, bugger!”
Rough hands dragged him to his feet, held him fast. Jamie struggled to lift his head, white-hot pain pulsing behind his skull. He found Sheff, looked him in the eye, the flow of blood warm on his cheek. “Touch her, and you’re a dead man!”
“You do like to make threats, don’t you, Jamie?” Sheff turned to one of the men, took the man’s cudgel. “But you hear this—I
will
touch her. I will take her before your very eyes, and you will be helpless to stop me!” With that, Sheff swung and hit Jamie on the temple. The last sounds Jamie heard as blackness drew him down was that of the angry crowd and breaking glass. Brighid’s stomach rolled and pitched along with the ship. Nauseated, she huddled, terrified, in the dark, damp corner of the little room they’d locked her in. She was belowdecks, somewhere in the hold. It reeked of rotting seaweed, excrement, filth.

Other books

Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors by Carl Sagan, Ann Druyan
Untamed by Elizabeth Lowell
My Lucky Charm by Wolfe, Scarlet
Christmas Surprises by Jenn Faulk
Rejoice by Karen Kingsbury
A Soldier’s Family by Cheryl Wyatt