Devil in a Kilt (21 page)

"But
I thought... you said—"

"I
know what I said," Duncan finished for her. "But I've been compelled
to change my mind about where I lay my head. You needn't look so alarmed. ‘Tis
sleep alone I want."

"Oh."
Her cheeks promptly turned a brighter shade of red. " ‘Tis not alarmed I
am, sir, only confused. I thought you preferred your own quar—"

"My
chamber, milady, has been sequestrated by a certain one-eyed demon of
rascality."

Surprise,
nervousness, or mayhap because the saints inspired her to help rob him of his
sanity, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and in doing so, let slip
the edge of the coverlet. In the instant it took her to realize what she'd done
and yank the coverlet back in place, Duncan caught a most tantalizing view of
one deliriously peaked nipple.

His
loins fired immediately, his shaft filling at the sight. Dusky rose in hue and
tightly rouched, the exposed nipple, even glimpsed so briefly, sent desire
crashing through Duncan. Driven by pure male hunger, he strode forward, ready
to abandon his ridiculous monkish vows and take possession
both
of his
wife's nipples and everything else she had to offer.

And
this time he intended to remember every minute detail of the pleasuring of her!

But
the quick flare of panic that flashed across her face at his approach stayed
him. Staff of Columba, fire in his tarse or nay, he would not force his rusted
attentions on a wife who dreaded his touch.

Slaking
his lust betwixt the spread legs of a bawd willing to service him even whilst
her eyes revealed what she truly thought of him was a necessary part of
Duncan's life. There wasn't a man on this earth who didn't need his shaft
milked on occasion. But, even a well-fired groin couldn't bring him to thus use
a gentleborn woman and most certainly not his wife.

Duncan's
mood darkened. What madness had let him imagine the sweet puckering of her
nipples had been caused by arousal over his presence? Nay, the room's chill air
had been responsible and not his brawn. Simply the cold, and that sobering knowledge
quickly tempered his own flare of desire.

But
how he wished he had been the cause.

Breath
of the Apostles, but he wanted to rouse her far beyond the mere peaking of her
breasts. He wanted her to writhe and moan beneath him. To welcome his embrace
... and more.

But
would she ever be able to look past the cold man she thought him to be and see
the heated longing he carried deep within?

Would
she e'er sense his need?

And
if she did, would she be willing to assuage it?

Did
he even want her to try? Hadn't it been just such wild longings that had given
Cassandra such power over him? Duncan stared at her, transfixed by the look of
her. His respect for the danger he knew desiring her would bring seemed to
dwindle with each breath he drew. Saints, but he'd started down a treacherous
path!

Half-angelic
with her wide-eyed innocence, she had purity written all over her upturned
face, yet with her fiery gold hair swirling about her naked shoulders, her
bewitching charms so provocatively displayed, she was half temptress as well.

Something
broke loose inside him, rending another tear in his carefully woven shield.
Another damnable gap in the wall. But caution be damned, he
wanted
her
to see the man beneath his stern looks and gruff words,
needed
her to
rescue him from himself and his private hell.

He
just wasn't able to admit it, couldn't bring himself to let her close. Yet
every time he glimpsed her, he wanted nothing more than to do just that. He was
a man split in twain, cast by his own fool machinations into a world of turmoil
and disorder. And he was at a pretty loss as to how to make things aright.

Before
he could catch himself, Duncan swore. The furious words of an oft-muttered oath
tumbled from his lips as if they had a mind of their own. A black and hearty epithet
that would have sent his most fearsome foes scrambling for cover.

His
wife scrambled, too, scooting backwards upon the bed, forgetting to hold on to
the covers in her haste to put distance between them.

Her
breasts, now fully exposed, were so inviting in their ripeness a tonsured monk
would abandon his psalm chanting to taste of them! Duncan's self-control
flagged and his shaft lengthened and swelled to an unbearable degree. His
curses became a groan and, overcome by need, he worked free the clasp holding
his plaid in place and let it fall.

As
quickly, he dispensed of his travel-stained hose and kicked them aside.

His
bride gasped, and the look of innocence and confusion in her beautiful eyes
changed swiftly to wariness. And this time the expression of dismay wasn't
fleeting. Or was it a look of repugnance? Not sure, Duncan studied her face,
acutely aware of the unflattering gaze she'd fixed upon his jutting manhood.

He
swallowed the string of oaths he burned to let loose. ‘Twas impossible to
discern what she thought of him, but he knew it wasn't good.

The
delight and wonder he'd oft seen upon the faces of women when they'd gazed upon
his nakedness and realized the size of him was once again painfully absent from
his wife's reaction. Duncan's pride crumbled. Truth be told, he'd not seen a
woman's face alight with passion since he'd last shared a few lusty wenches
with his king.

And
that had been a goodly number of years ago... before Cassandra.

At
the thought of his first wife, his manhood began to wither. Cursing again, he
spun around before Linnet could see. Yet, from her sharp intake of breath, he
suspected she already had.

Fuming,
his face hot with humiliation, Duncan stalked to the hearth and glared at the
dying embers. His hands clenched at his sides and his entire body tightened
like a bowstring ... all except
that
part of him.

His
manhood, the most intimate part of himself which he'd just hoped to proudly
display to his new bride, to
woo
her, to
seduce
her with his
manliness and prowess, had let him down. Disgraced, embarrassed, and shamed him
by shrinking before her very eyes.

Saints
and martyrs, but he'd made a mess of things! The sight of his unclothed body
inspired his wife to look upon him first with distaste, he was sure of it, and
then, as he'd diminished in size, with shock.

Such
a performance had likely done irreparable damage to his chances of ever winning
her affection. And all because of
her.
If he could, he'd damn the ghost
of Cassandra to eternal hell, but he highly suspected the devious she-devil
already resided there.

Ne'er
would Linnet believe it'd been the thought of his first wife that had so
rapidly stilled his desire. Duncan knew enough of women to know she'd put the
blame on herself, think he found her unappealing.

Or
she'd think him incapable.

He
didn't know which notion upset him more.

"Sir?"
came her voice, its hesitancy twisting Duncan's innards. "Have I offended
you?"

"Nay,
wife," he said, his own voice rough in his throat. "You've done
naught to displease me. ‘Tis only weary I am."

"But
yo—"

"I
am consumed by a raging need for sleep," he snapped, ill humor making him
clench his hands to fists. Mother of God preserve him did the woman dare to pursue
his embarrassment.

"Sir,
I have heard of su—"

"Naught
is amiss," Duncan ground out, spinning around to still her lips with a
fierce glare.

Lucifer's
knees! She still sat with her breasts exposed! Were he any other man, he'd
march across the room and bury his face between their fullness, drink in her
sweetness in great greedy gulps, then settle his mouth over first one nipple,
then the other, drawing deeply until he was utterly filled with the taste of
her.

He
ached to taste her elsewhere, too, and would, now, this instant, were he not so
consumed with rage and pain, even the love of a good woman wasn't strong enough
to banish the demons eating away at his soul.

She
peered curiously at him but made no move to cover her breasts. Duncan fought
not to move either. Doing so might make her yank up the coverlet. Considering
the disharmony of their alliance thus far, the heavens only knew when he'd be
blessed with such a glorious sight again.

"You
said you meant to sleep," she said then, blessedly abandoning her pursuit
of discussing the state of his manhood. She cocked her head to the side as she
spoke, and the rounded globes of her breasts swayed a bit with the movement.

Swift
and powerful, Duncan's lust returned. He swallowed hard, his gaze fastened on
the tight little nipples thrusting so prettily toward him, fair begging for
attention. Christ's blood, but she'd cast some kind of dark witchery over him,
dulled his very wits.

"...
Did you mean
here,
in this bed?" she asked, apparently unaware of
what she did to him. "With
me?
"

Duncan
knew the meaning of her innocent words, but despite himself, the last two she'd
uttered went straight to his loins. Aye, he wanted to sleep with her ... but
not how she meant. He wanted to spread her sweet thighs, look his fill upon
her, drive her wild with his hands and mouth, pleasure her until she was
dripping with need, then plunge himself into her again and again and again
until his release shattered every last one of his fool reasons for keeping
himself from her.

But
the ghost of Cassandra and her perfidy still lurked near enough to halt the
swell of his tarse.

"Are
you going to fetch down the tapestry again?"

It
took Duncan a moment to comprehend her words. When he did, ire drove him to
snap at her. "Have you not seen I pose no threat to you this night?"

His
sharp words widened her eyes and sent her scooting even farther away from him.
To Duncan's perverse delight, her flight across the broad expanse of the bed
freed even more delectable treats for his hungry gaze to feast upon. For one
very brief instant, he tried to resist, but how could he not allow his gaze to
devour a bounty so deliriously displayed?

Although
she'd doused the brace of candles for the night, a wide band of moonlight fell
through an unshuttered window, casting a pattern of light and shadows across
her.

The
saints must have meant to vex him apurpose, for she'd tangled the bedcoverings
to such a wild degree, she'd unwittingly exposed the triangle of lush red-gold
curls between her thighs. Bathed in moonglow, the core of her womanhood, cleft
and all, was clearly visible, every sweetly pouting fold sharply illuminated by
the moon's silvery light.

And
with her bent knees slightly parted, she unwittingly allowed him a
more-than-ample eyeful!

‘Twas
as if, unbeknownst to her, the sweet mound of hair and tender, gently swollen
flesh begged for a man's touch.

His
touch.

He
had but to take her. Saints, he already had, once!

But
then the bush of fiery curls turned sooty black before his eyes and Duncan's
blood ran cold. Sweet Jesu, help him, he even imagined he saw Cassandra's long,
slender fingers toying idly with her own sex as she'd oft done to torment him,
taunting him until he'd craved her more fiercely than a stag in rat.

Unable
to move, Duncan stared at his new wife's sweetness but saw the black spread of
a wicked she-wolf's wiles. From the very bowels of hell, he conjured the images
that had once driven him to such heights of erotic bliss: his first wife's hand
plucking lightly at her raven-colored nether curls or trailing a slow-moving
finger down the pouty length of her cleft, driving him mad with lust as she'd
performed her uninhibited acts of sheer wantonness.

Then
Linnet moved, and the ghastly memories shattered. Whirling around, lest she
see the horror he knew had to be etched into his face, Duncan stalked across
the room to the bank of tall arched windows. Mother of God, seldom had he been
so shaken. Careful to hide his turmoil, he took long, deep breaths of the chill
night air until he was certain he could get words past his lips.

"Pray,
straighten the bedcoverings, for I want naught but to rest now. ‘Tis only the
bed I want you to share," he said, feeling more ancient and worn than
Fergus. "I'll ask naught else of you."

And
if I freely give what my heart tells me you seek?
Linnet's
heart spoke the words she chose not to say aloud. She would've shouted them,
but she'd seen his eyes glaze with some inner turmoil, and her gift had picked
up the surge in the dark torment she knew he carried on his broad shoulders.
So she chose silence this once and simply did as he bid her.

She'd
concede this night's battle, but ne'er would she admit total defeat. Not even
to demons the likes of which she couldn't begin to fathom.

Yet
she knew they existed, for the darkness that filled his soul spilled over into
the bedchamber, blocking out the soft light of the moon and weighing down the
atmosphere with its malignancy.