Torn Between Two Highlanders Page 10

  “Surely not in your condition,” Arabella said.

  “The laird hasn’t the luxury to be choosy.”

  I cannot sleep, he’d said. He meant it. She saw it in the shadows beneath his eyes. Last night, upon their admittance to the castle and his return to his own warm bed, Malcolm ought to have fallen into a deep slumber. But he hadn’t, and she wondered if that could really be because of her.

  Then a tenderness stole over her such that it wouldn’t be denied.

  “Come then with me, to bed, Malcolm,” Arabella said, reaching for his hand. “And get some rest.”

  He knew what she meant; what she was offering. And a longing played across his features. He reached for her, but warned, “The scandal, lass…”

  “I don’t care.” Her reputation was lost the moment the Donalds abducted her. Positively tainted when she spent three nights alone with men who were not her husband. And even if she wanted to pretend at virtue, she couldn’t now. She’d already confessed to Conall, who, in his anger, would tell anyone who would listen. She was good and ruined now, several times over. Taking a man to her bed in the middle of the day would be perfectly in keeping with her reputation now.

  And so she let him lean upon her as they made their way slowly down the stairs to her chambers. Then she latched the door behind them, and helped him onto the bed, kneeling before him to help him remove his clothes.

  When he was naked, she rose up, and Malcolm clasped her about the waist. Kissing her belly and her breasts. Drawing her down onto the mattress with him where they kissed as they had never kissed before. Arabella found herself tracing his scar with her fingertip. Felt herself open to him—surrender to him. And Malcolm was tired; she knew, because his fingers were unusually clumsy.

  What followed was not the kind of heated, erotic abandon they’d shared before. As he drew her to kneel over him, and sink down upon his shaft, she realized that something had changed between them. As she moved carefully, gently, tenderly to bring him pleasure…it seemed like lovemaking.

  At least for Arabella, whose emotions swelled in her chest until it ached.

  His eyes never left her face as she moved over him, moaning softly at the caress of his hands on her breasts. And when his pleasure began to peak, and the tell-tale redness spread down his neck and chest in a way that told her he was close to his orgasm, he tried to stop her from riding him through it.

  “I must spend outside of you,” he grunted, straining to hold back.

  She knew he was right. She mustn’t get with child. It was one thing to damn herself to a life of harlotry, but a child was an innocent. And yet…and yet…she was so overcome with inexplicable love for this man that she wanted all of him.

  Every drop.

  “Stay in me. Stay with me. Come with me,” she murmured.

  It was too much for him to resist. He rose up off the pillow with the strain, shouting out his release as it flowed warmly into her. As her own body convulsed with pleasure around him.

  Afterwards, they lay together, spooned warmly beneath the fur. He sighed with contentment, nestling against her as he settled in for the long sleep denied him. And while he slept, he held her tightly, not like a whore, but like a lover.

  She felt that, too. Her feelings she had for him hadn’t subsided. Love, it must be, though she dared not name it. And maybe not so inexplicable after all.

  Though Malcolm was a quiet man, he was a man of deep emotions. A man who was fiercely protective, and stoically strong. A man who needed her, perhaps as no one had ever needed her. A man who might love her in return.

  When they awakened together, later in the day, Malcolm whispered soft endearments in Gaelic. And when she whispered them back, he said, “I canna marry you lass.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I wouldn’t make a good wife to any man…”

  “You’re wrong. You would make a perfect wife for me, because I love you.”

  Her heart stopped. “You do?”

  Kissing her hair, her ear, the side of her neck, he whispered, “Aye. After Lorna, I didn’t think I could feel this way again about any woman. But there is no denying I do love you. Truly.”

  She sighed. Not with sorrow, but with happiness. It seemed the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to her. And of course, it was.

  “I would marry you, Arabella. And make a family together. It is only the vow I made never to marry again. I canna break it.”

  She would be his mistress. His harlot. His whore. Gladly. “Then does it matter if we marry? Malcolm, I—”

  “Don’t say it,” Malcolm whispered. “If you would declare your love for me, I cannot hear it, because it will break me.”

  Arabella turned to face him. Her eyes searching out answers in his dark, inscrutable gaze. “Why should it break you?”

  “Because Davy loves you too. And unlike me, he can make an honest woman of you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You have the wrong herb,” Arabella said to the overtaxed physicker as he tended the wounded men in the makeshift infirmary.

  “What?” the harried man said, with nary a glance at her.

  “You wanted mistletoe,” Arabella replied. “But you grabbed the jar with the whortleberry.”

  He looked down, his eyes widening with surprise. “So I did…”

  Arabella, who had spent the afternoon making bandages and tending to wounded men, pressed her lips together. She needed this distraction. Needed it very much, given the way her heart ached for Malcolm. Given what he’d said about Davy making an honest woman of her. And she would be vexed if the physicker sent her away.

  “How did you know I wanted mistletoe?” the physicker asked.

  “Because the man you’re treating has gone into seizures,” she whispered, waiting for the inevitable accusation of witchcraft.

  Instead, the physicker nodded and went about his business, letting Arabella help him where she could, until her stomach was growling so loudly, he said, “Go to the kitchens and get yourself something to eat.”

  But the kitchen girls turned her away, saying that she’d been asked for in the main hall.

  Arabella had never been to dine in the castle proper. Never thought to be included at the tables with the notables and retainers. But as her sister was seated with the laird at his table, as if she were his lady, Arabella had a place in the hall, too. It was Davy who saved a place for her, offering her the choices bits of food.

  He was always so careful with her, so accommodating. And whenever she was frightened, his bright smile had eased her fears. Even now, he sought to cheer her. “We’re rationing,” he explained, as if to excuse their meal. “But it’s a wee bit better than porridge!”

  In truth, it was finer food than Arabella had ever tasted in her life, excepting, of course, her sister’s meat pies. A thing she hungered for, even as she nibbled at fresh fragrant bread and a dish of cabbage with smoked ham. It was autumn, the blood season, when the animals who could not be fed were sacrificed for meat. But all that would have to be smoked and preserved to see them over the winter.

  That was, of course, about as much as Arabella knew about domestic matters—reminding her once again what a poor daughter she had been and what a poor wife she would make. She couldn’t believe what Malcolm had intimated; that Davy—Davy of all people—might intend to propose marriage to her.

  If he had ever said such a thing, it was surely said in jest. For Davy’s sense of humor was always a bit off. And yet, sitting at a table with him for a meal, she realized it was more than his sense of humor that was off. Not a bawdy tale escaped his lips, and instead of drinking and swearing and laughing as he might normally do, he griped, “I hate sieges.”

  “Not dangerous enough for you, Davy?” asked a brawny warrior, taking a big mouthful of bread. “There was a skirmish yesterday morning. Some men badly hurt.”

  “It’s the waiting,” Davy replied. “Waiting to know when and where they’ll strike. All the waiting is dull enough to make mush of a ma
n’s brains.”

  “I think they’ll come the way you did,” the other warrior said, resting a muscular arm on the table. “From the loch. Up the walls. At night, when there’s no moon. They’ll dress like villagers, so it won’t be easy to tell them apart. For all we know they’re already inside, waiting for a moment to betray us.”

  Instead of grinning at the prospect of battle—as he normally did—Davy actually grimaced. “What an optimist you are, Ian Macrae.”

  And Arabella stiffened in her chair.

  Ian Macrae. The laird’s kinsman. A man many in the clan thought ought to have been the laird. And she narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious of a man who could lay out so precisely a plan for treachery.

  If there really was a traitor inside the castle, was it more likely to be a man dressed like a villager? Would rival clans count on that? Or was it more likely to be the laird’s own kinsman—a man who stood to gain from the laird’s death?

  “Aren’t you hungry, lass?” Davy asked, when she pushed back from the table.

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” she replied, trying very hard not to meet the eyes of Ian Macrae. “And I think I should retire.”

  Davy caught her sleeve, eyes hopeful. “But there’s to be music. Maybe dancing. It’s important for people to keep their spirits up in a castle under siege.”

  She understood that. And she wondered if the laird would lead the dancing, and if he would have her sister on his arm. She hoped so. She did. But she felt the curious stares of the laird’s men—some of them lascivious. And though she was resigned to her status as a fallen women, she didn’t want them to get the idea that she was available to them for a price.

  “I’d like some air,” she said, waving away the smoke from a candle, as if that was what bothered her.

  And Davy rose to walk beside her. “I’ll go with you.”

  In truth, she loved having Davy beside her. His strength, his bravery, his confidence all made her feel stronger. But given her feelings for Malcolm, she was decidedly confused.

  “You needn’t walk with me,” she said when they escaped the hall.

  “There isn’t anyone else I’d rather walk with, lass. Besides…I have something for you.”

  Arabella turned to him, curiously, as he offered her…a turnip.

  “After the snowstorm, there aren’t any flowers to be had,” he explained. “But I asked the kitchen girl to cut one for you out of a turnip. She agreed only if we promised to eat it. Anyway, I was going to offer it to you when the music started and ask you to dance, but in truth, I’d rather have you to myself.”

  “Would you now?” she asked, utterly charmed.

  Davy swallowed, wiping one sweaty palm upon his plaid, and she realized that he was nervous. Very nervous. She’d never seen him this way before. And a flush began to crawl its way up his pale neck to his freckled ears. “Arabella, I have a very important question to ask you.”

  Dear God, was he going to propose marriage? And what would she say if he did? Her whole body tightened like a bowstring as her mind reeled in confusion. She’d made peace with the fact that she was too ruined to be any man’s wife. She’d cast off Conall and made love to Malcolm and…

  Davy cleared his throat. “Arabella, I canna stop thinking about kissing you. About touching you. I sit next to you at a table and feel my cock swell to the bursting point. You’d think I’d have had my fill of you at the cottage, and I tried. But now I’m in a fever of need. And it is more distracting than you could ever imagine. Even at this moment, my mind is a haze as I imagine lifting you up and pressing your back to this wall, and taking you here and now. I was hoping you would agree to let me.”

  It was not, of course, what she thought to hear him say.

  And even less did she anticipate her immediate lustful response to him. She didn’t expect her whole body to roar awake with wanting him to do just as he described. She would have thought herself sated. But she was insatiable.

  And she had Davy to thank for that, in part.

  Hours ago, she told herself that she loved Malcolm. And she still believed it. But there was no denying that Davy had a hold on her too, and not just on her lusts. That he would have taken the trouble to give her a turnip-flower!

  He was boyishly charming, and sexually adventurous, and she wasn’t certain it was in her to deny him. Or herself. Virtuous girls denied themselves…but Arabella would not. “Won’t we get caught?”

  “Not by anyone who matters,” Davy said, flashing her that familiar grin. He had been nervous she would say no. It had meant a great deal to him to be able to have her again. And in spite of all expectations, it was important to her too.

  As if it evened scales that she hadn’t realized were unbalanced.

  When he grasped her about the waist, and she felt a thrill go through her at the thought of being taken here, so near to the hall that they could even hear the music playing, she felt herself go slick with desire. But that wasn’t all she was slick with. “But Davy, I must tell you…I was with Malcolm.”

  “I know,” he said, pressing her gently back against the stone, his hands tugging up her skirt, his mouth closing on the hollow of her throat where her pulse thumped like a scared rabbit.

  “Today, I mean,” she said, wondering if she should feel guilty.

  Wondering if he would take it as some manner of betrayal.

  But if he was surprised or angry he didn’t show it. He was too busy hoisting her leg up over his hip. “Good…” His fingers found her passage, and he groaned. “He left you ready for me.”

  “Oh, God,” Arabella whispered, throwing her head back in ecstasy as Davy’s swollen cockhead probed at her entrance, then slammed into her with a satisfying thrust. It was a wild and wicked and sinful thing to do. And she loved Davy for doing it to her. No, that couldn’t be possible, could it? That she could love Davy and Malcolm both?

  Fortunately, she was too consumed with passion to give more thought to it.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, and Davy was more than strong enough to hold her aloft as he pumped into her. Holding onto his strong shoulders, she found herself swiftly hurtling toward her climax.

  How had that happened? How had it stolen upon her so swiftly?

  “Davy, you’re going to make me come.”

  “I won’t last long if you do,” he said by her ear, tossing his head so that his sweaty red curls flew away from his eyes and he could stare at her face. And then he grinned. “But I want to make you scream.”

  “Everyone will hear if I do!”

  He laughed. “And come rushing out of the dining hall to see me swiving a lass against a wall? Oh, aye. I think you’d turn red from the tips of your toes to the tip of your nose. And enjoy every minute of it, you naughty little minx.”

  Arabella wasn’t sure if that was true. But at the moment, she was so excited, that it felt true. Worse, it was taking all her strength to keep from going over the edge and screaming. “Oh, oh, oh, please!”

  Then it happened. She cried out in pure carnal ecstasy, his swollen cock pinning her against the wall, banging her hard, forcing her to an orgasm she wasn’t even sure she was ready to have.

  Their cries mingled, but he did not finish.

  Instead, Davy clamped his hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. A thing she was grateful for, because they heard footsteps in the hall. No doubt someone coming to investigate the noise. Davy let her down, pulling free of her still shuddering body, and grabbed her hand. “Run!”

  “I can’t even walk,” she gasped.

  At which point, her highland lover merely hauled her up and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her off. “Davy!” she cried, laughing in spite of herself as he ran down the hall. “You’re going to drop me.”

  “Never,” was his reply, as he bounded up the stairs.

  “Davy!” she shrieked again, as he carried her right past Brenna, who was so surprised to see their love play that the mousy little maid dropped a basin of water on the floor.r />
  “Sorry,” Davy murmured, not stopping for one moment.

  They slammed into a room—she wasn’t sure which, because it was hard to see things half-way upside down—and she was dizzied to find herself laid flat upon a table. Davy hovered over her, still laughing, sweat upon his brow. “All’s well that ends well…so let’s end this, lass.”

  He wanted to find his own release, and she didn’t blame him. She wanted him to come. Wanted to give him pleasure. And could not stop touching him, even as she protested, “But Brenna saw us!”

  “The maid? And do you care very much what she’s going to say about it?”

  Breathless as he crawled atop her, Arabella murmured, “Not so very much…”

  “Good,” he said, moving between her legs to insert himself again.

  His mouth closed over hers in a passionate kiss that still tasted of sunshine, and it was only a moment before he let out a guttural cry, releasing into her several warm spurts of seed that soothed her sore insides.

  They had been so happy together, laughing only a moment ago, that she was surprised to hear him curse. “Goddamnit.”

  “What is it?”

  “I meant to bring you off again, before I took my pleasure.”

  She smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you didn’t wait. I liked the wildness of it. I wanted to feel your completion more than my own.”

  At that, he sighed and very tenderly took her face in his hands. “I canna get enough of you. I want to taste you again. I want to haul you over my knee and skelp you until your cheeks are pink. I want to blindfold you, and truss you up. I want to try anything and everything I’ve never tried before. And the strangest thing is, I only want to try them with you.”

  “You’ve never taken a girl like this before?”

  “Against the wall or atop the laird’s desk?”

  Arabella forgot to breathe. “This is the laird’s desk?”

  Davy laughed, trying to calm her before she squirmed out from underneath him and ran away. “He’s listening to music in the hall with your beautiful sister. He isn’t likely to catch us out.”