Dangerous Pride (9 page)

Lachlan was not sure the same could be said of him.  His back ached from carrying the lamb, and the downpour of rain – which had only just started to let up – had chilled him to the bone.  As he shuffled into the cottage, he longed for a warm, comfortable bed and a glass of whiskey to ease his rest.

The fire had burned low in the hearth, putting the room in near darkness.  With a sign of frustration, Lachlan banked the fire more carefully so that it would help keep the chill off for what was left of the night.  There had been no sound from Catriona, and he was relieved to see that she slept soundly on the bed.  Her dress and the plaids were still damp, but drying by the fire. The lass lay cuddled in the center of the bed, the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.  One pale, shapely leg jutted out from beneath the covering.  Shaking his head at the direction his thoughts were going, he grabbed the driest of the plaids and stalked to the corner of the room.  Casting off his boots, stockings and his sopping cloak and shirt, he wore only his breeks.  They were damp, but they would dry soon enough.  Lachlan took the two chairs and placed them near the fire, facing each other, making a bed of sorts for the night.

Damn her eyes,
he thought as he took a long drink of the whiskey he’d carried in his saddlebag.  The lass had changed.  Savagely he bit into one of the oatcakes he’d found in the bag.  She was enough to drive him to drink – and distraction.  The air of innocence that surrounded her made her more enticing than he ever would have imagined.

Lachlan had never lacked for feminine companionship, but he had always found himself drawn to women who wanted no commitments, no attachments, nothing more than the pleasure his body offered them.  He had always made every effort to be discrete in his relationships with women, having learned from his father’s example how little respect a man engendered when he was unable to manage his private life.

Besides, no matter what demands his body made, Catriona was not a lass to be trifled with.  She was too innocent, too well-born for him to consider a dalliance with her.  She deserved marriage, children and security, he knew, but still could not stop himself from staring at her prone form until sleep finally claimed him.

A short time later, Lachlan awoke to find his body throbbing with discomfort, thanks largely to his makeshift bed.  Walking about the cottage helped lessen his pain, but he knew it would be a long, sleepless night.  Frustrated, he gathered his plaid around him and settled on the floor beside Catriona’s bed.  It was near enough the fire to be warm, and Lachlan hoped that would help ease the chill in his bones.

Lachlan was at last settling back into slumber when a sudden cry startled him awake.  He leapt to his feet, automatically reaching for a weapon, before he remembered where he was.  In a few heartbeats he realized it was Catriona’s troubled cry that had awoken him.

The lass was tossing in her sleep, frantically clutching the blanket close to her chest.  Her low, pitiful moans nearly broke his heart.  Bending over her, he laid his hand gently on her cheek.  As he looked closer, he could see her teeth chattering, and the pale, gray cast to her skin.

“Och, lass, now ye’ve done it,” he whispered softly as he brushed her hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.  Slowly, Catriona stilled, and then her eyes slowly opened, her pale, auburn-tinged lashes fluttering softly until she willed herself awake.

“What – er – why are you here?” she stammered, the alarm she felt clearly expressed in her shaking, halting voice.  “And why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded, feeling uncomfortable under his warm, concerned gaze.  Slowly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting on the bed, the blanket clutched tightly to her chest, her eyes flashing angrily.

Lachlan smiled in spite of himself.  In truth, she looked a fright.  Catriona’s lush curls had dried while she’d slept, and now lay plastered against her head.  Her eyes were hooded with fatigue, and try as hard as she might, she could not seem to bring the chattering and shaking under control.

“I think you had a bad dream,” he said softly, pleased to see that she wasn’t as ill as he’d feared.

“Aye, that must have been it,” Catriona replied quickly, embarrassed by the tone she’d used with him when she’d first awoken.  He must surely think her a shrew.  “It’s just that it took me a minute to ken where I was.”  Catriona settled the blanket around her, struggling to maintain a semblance of dignity.  “It is no’ every night I awaken in a strange bed, after all.”

Conscious of her wary expression, Lachlan slowly sat down at the edge of her bed.  “Yer shaking like a leaf, yer so cold, and yer body is exhausted beyond reason,” he said kindly.  Reaching over, he grabbed the flask of whiskey that rested near the fire.  “Take a sip of this.  I promise ye’ll feel better if you do.”

Catriona’s expression was doubtful, but she finally took the whiskey from him, risking a hesitant sip that immediately set her to coughing.  “Nay, lass, it’ll work better for you if you just take a healthy drink,” he advised, his voice tinged with laughter.  With a defiant glare, Catriona tilted the flask back, determined not to embarrass herself as she swallowed the fiery liquid.  It felt like it burned a trail down her throat, but within seconds the heat of the whiskey was spreading through her.  “I was right, was I no’?” Lachlan teased, silently admiring her determination.  A curt nod was her only response.  “Now, if ye’ll just scoot over on the bed, I’ll do my best to keep you warm.”

It was impossible for Catriona to hide her shock.  “You will no’!” she exclaimed, outraged at his suggestion.

Lachlan’s expression was stern as he pried the flask from her trembling fingers.  He refused to put the lass’ health at risk simply because it was difficult for him to deny his attraction to her.  “It was no’ a request, lass, but an order.”  Before she could protest, he scooped her up, blanket and all, shifting her to the edge of the bed.  Seconds later, she felt his warm, strong arms wrap around her, pulling her into his embrace.  Every inch of Catriona’s body tensed, and then a delightful warmth spread through her.  She didn’t allow herself to reflect on the fact that only the thin fabric of the blanket separated her from his bare chest.

“Do no’ get het up,” Lachlan added quietly, his breath stirring the hair near her ear.  “You think I’m the kind of man who would force himself on a wee lass?  Yer still shaking, and I do no’ intend to spend the rest of the night on that cold, damp floor.  You have my word of honor – I will no’ do anything to impugn
yer
honor,” he added, meaning every word, as much for her benefit as his own.

Within minutes, his breathing had slowed into a deep, steady rhythm, and she knew he was asleep.  Though she soon stopped shaking from the chill as his warmth enveloped her, her heart was frozen from the sting of his words.  Her cheeks damp with tears at the pain of his latest rejection, it was some time before exhaustion claimed her.

Elizabeth paced the length of her room, pulling her arisaid more tightly around her.  Clad only in a thin chemise, she felt goose bumps on her arms, the result of the cool night air breezing in from an open window.  Heather, her serving girl, had started a fire in the hearth, but it had yet to do anything to ward off the coolness of the night.  The little fool, Elizabeth thought, cursing Heather’s lazy ways.  She should have built the fire earlier – should have had things prepared for her mistress, without having to be nagged or ordered about.  The lass needed a good beating to remind her of her responsibilities.  And the price to be paid should they be shirked.

Things would be different when Elizabeth was in charge, she decided, a sly smile playing at the corners of her full lips.  As the mistress of a fine property like Tolquhon Castle, she would hire only the most loyal and obedient help.  Aye, when she was free of the nuisance of Lachlan’s mother, she would run the household in a manner that would be the envy of even the finest Scottish families.  Her own mother may not have set the best example, but Lady Ana had taught her a thing or two about managing a household.  The key to success was to demand complete loyalty from the household staff, and to never settle for anything less than excellence.  After all, the lost souls who found employment in the keep were little more than indentured servants, and they needed to be ruled with an iron first.  Kindness and compassion were only for the weak.  Elizabeth would not make the mistake of giving them too much freedom or praise, for they would surely take advantage of her if she did.

Though Heather was a simple girl, both in intellect and experience, she had proven to be a tolerable maid.  When Elizabeth had come of age, she had insisted that – like her mother – she have a maid devoted to assisting her with her wardrobe and other responsibilities.  The Earl had resisted at first, for despite her mother’s influence he still had some backward notions about how things should be done.  He had eventually relented, after Elizabeth had persistently campaigned for the servant.  Elizabeth smiled to herself, recognizing her father for the vain, ineffective peacock he was.  Aye, it did not take much effort to bend him to her will – a few well-rehearsed tears and some pouting could always be counted on to make the silly old fool see things her way.

Heather has proven herself most useful, if for no other reason than the fact she knew how to keep her mouth shut.  She had afforded Elizabeth privacy and distance from the prying eyes of her parents.  Indeed, if her parents had learned of Elizabeth’s predilections, she would have been disowned – and dishonored – in quick order.  But with Heather’s help, she had been able to live her life as she wanted to, right under their noses.  Truthfully, the lying, scheming and the chance of being discovered merely added greater excitement to her…diversions.

Elizabeth paced to the window, leaning out into the fresh evening air.  She saw no sign of Calum, and his tardiness was putting her in a foul temper.  Cursing under her breath, she closed the window until it was only slightly ajar.  If the fool was going to keep her waiting, she’d be damned if she’d allow herself to freeze in the process.

Checking the door to ensure the lock was engaged, Elizabeth climbed into her huge bed, artfully arranging her blond, silky tresses on the pillow.  Heavy red velvet curtains hung from four elaborately carved oak pillars, creating a sensuous sanctuary she prized above all her other possessions.  She did not concern herself with the expense of such a bed, nor the sacrifices her father had been forced to make in order to afford such a luxurious item.  She’d learned at a very young age to be concerned only with her own pleasure.

Elizabeth had reached over to her night table to draw out a small looking glass when she heard a noise at the window.  Not wanting to show any interest, she instead focused on her image in the mirror, dabbing at the berry red rouge that stained her lips and cheeks.  Satisfied with her appearance, she replaced the looking glass, and was straightening her chemise around her when a heavy shadow crossed her bed.

“Do no’ trouble yerself to greet me, Lady Elizabeth,” Calum sneered, his expression contemptuous as he glared down at her on the bed.  Roughly, he pushed her to the side, sprawling his large, well muscled form alongside hers.  Distractedly, he propped himself up on one arm as he reached his hand to grab her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and index finger through the thin cloth of her chemise.  “You should have given me the welcome I deserve.  Instead, you laze in the bed like yer some kind of queen.  Do you think me unworthy of yer time?” he taunted, wrapping his hand in her honeyed tresses as he roughly pulled her toward him for a savage kiss.

With a heavy sigh Elizabeth lay back into the soft warmth of the mattress, luxuriating in the enticing blend of pleasure and pain as Calum worked his expert touch on her body.  Though she’d had other lovers before him, none had his skill, nor did they understand her needs the way he did.

Twisting her head to the side, he kissed the nape of her neck, nipping the delicate flesh with his strong, white teeth.  “Mayhaps yer not worthy of the pleasure I can bring you, Elizabeth,” he said cruelly, biting her neck so fiercely that a small cry escaped her lips.  With his other hand, he grabbed at her chemise, pulling it down her body until it was rumpled at her waist.  A feral expression crossed his face as she was exposed to his hungry gaze.  “You may think yerself above the rest of us, but yer naught but a common slut.”

Ignoring his insults, Elizabeth arched her back, drawing his head down to her breast.  Moaning, she felt a tremor of desire shoot through her body as he stroked her nipple with his tongue, drawing upon it hungrily. Elizabeth reached out, her fingers clutching the sheets as she reveled in his attention.  Slowly, she entwined her fingers in the masses of his curly hair, tugging roughly until he pulled back from her breast.  Elizabeth guided him to her, nipping at his lip until he opened his mouth to her.

Calum shifted atop her, and she could feel the hard, throbbing evidence of his desire against her bare leg.  He savagely pushed his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth, and she responded in kind, alternating thrusts of her tongue with tiny, frantic nips of his lower lip.

Still straddling her, Calum drew back, settling on his haunches as he pulled his tunic over his head.  Elizabeth had always found herself drawn to his dark nature, accentuated by his brooding good looks and his brutal strength. Calum’s questionable past only increased her desire for him.  “You canna get yer fill of me, can you, little bitch?” he growled, aroused almost to the point of breaking as she ran her fingers through the curly tangle of hair that covered his chest, slowly moving her hand lower and lower.  Elizabeth merely nodded her agreement, her eyes hooded with desire.  She no longer trusted herself to speak.  All she could think about was the burning need she felt.

“I’ll no’ keep you waiting any longer then,” he growled, his eyes black with desire as she caressed him through his clothes.  Fumbling, he unbuttoned the front of his breeches, not bothering to remove the garment, or even his boots.  He scowled at her, not pausing as he thrust into her, oblivious to her startled cry.  “This is what you want, you slut, and you well ken it,” he cried out, grabbing a fistful of her hair in one hand as he pushed into her with savage, fierce strokes.