Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 19

“Mercy, but you startled me!” Sitting upright in her bed, his bride clutched the covers to her breasts and stared at him, round-eyed and aghast as if he’d risen up from the floor like a wraith or other such unwelcome creature of the night. “I must not have heard your return.”

“Nae, you didn’t.”

You couldn’t have for I did not arrive through the chamber door.

The unspoken quip and the exhilaration of using the secret wall passage, something he hadn’t done in years, brought a wolfish smile to Duncan’s lips.

The first genuine smile he’d allowed himself in the devil knew how long, and the feel of it was unexpectedly good.

His wife tilted her head to the side as if to take full measure of such an oddity as the great MacKenzie of Kintail grinning. “Then why did you?” she asked finally. “Return, I mean.”

“Of a certainty, not to joust words with you, my lady.”

“Am I needed below?” She peered at him. “Has something happened to Robbie? Or one of the Murchinson survivors?”

Aye, you are needed, lass. By me.

The heart he didn’t possess and Marmaduke would have him listen to, spoke.

Duncan ignored it.

“The boy is well and the Murchinson party sleeps soundly, or so I’ve been informed,” he answered as laird, and continued to work the shoulder clasp that held his plaid in place. He also continued to enjoy the view.

The thin coverlet his wife grasped so tightly did more to pleasingly frame the fullness of her breasts, emphasize their lushness, than to hide them, as was surely her intent.

“What are you doing?” Apprehension stained her cheeks with a flattering wash of color.

“Is it no’ obvious?” The devilish smile almost returned, but this time he resisted.

“You appear to be readying yourself for bed, my lord.”

“Duncan.”

“You appear to be readying yourself for bed, Duncan, sir,” she corrected, her voice soft yet piercing the wall around his heart as expertly as if her words were carried on the sharpest and most swift of arrows.

“And so I am,” he confirmed, noting how moonlight gilded the silken skein of her unbound hair. “I dinnae usually sleep clothed.”

“But I thought … you said-”

“I know what I said,” Duncan finished for her. “I’ve changed my mind about where I lay my head. You needn’t look so alarmed. ’Tis sleep alone I want.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But I am not alarmed, sir, only confused. I thought you preferred your own quarters?”

“My bedchamber has been overtaken by a certain one-eyed demon of rascality.”

“Sir Marmaduke?”

“Aye,” Duncan told her true. “The long-nosed English knave and none other.”

“I see.” Her brow pleated, revealing she didn’t see at all.

Then, perhaps because the saints inspired her to rob him of his sanity, she pushed her 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 glimpse of one deliciously peaked nipple.

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

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

But the flare of panic that flashed across her face at his approach stayed him. Fire in his loins or nae, he would not force his rusted attentions on a wife who dreaded his touch.

Slaking his lust between the spread legs of a village joy woman willing to service him while her eyes revealed what she truly thought of him was a necessary part of his 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 so 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? Nae, the room’s chill air had been responsible and not his brawn. Simply the cold, and that sobering knowledge quickly tempered his own desire.

But how he wished he had been the cause.

Truth was, he wanted to rouse her far beyond the mere peaking of her breasts. He wanted her to writhe and cry out 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 his new wife, transfixed by the look of her. His respect for the danger he knew desiring her would bring, dwindled with each breath he drew. Sakes, 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 two, cast by his own fool machinations into a world of turmoil and disorder. And he was at a loss as to how to make things right.

Before he could catch himself, he 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 curse that would have sent his most fearsome foes scrambling for cover.

His wife scrambled, too, scooting backward 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, 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 the remainder of his travel-stained clothes and his boots, kicking 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 repugnance? Not sure, Duncan studied her face, acutely aware of the unflattering gaze she’d fixed on his jutting manhood.

He swallowed the string of oaths he burned to let loose. It was impossible to tell what she thought of him, but he knew it wasn’t good.

The delight and wonder he’d often 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, 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 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. He 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?”

“Nae, wife,” he said, his own voice rough in his throat. “You’ve done naught to displease me. I am only weary.”

“But you-”

“I am consumed by a raging need for sleep,” he snapped, ill humor making his head pound. Mother of God preserve him if she dared to pursue his embarrassment.

“Sir, I have heard of such-”

“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 in plain sight. 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 wholly sated on 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 herself. Duncan fought not to move either. Doing so might make her yank up the coverlet. Considering the disharmony of their union 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 tilted her head 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 crests thrusting so prettily toward him, begging for attention. Sakes, 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 writhed 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 wickedness 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 grasp what she meant. 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. Regrettably, her flight across the bed freed even more delectable treats for his hungry gaze to feast upon. For a beat, he tried to resist, but how could he not allow his gaze to devour a bounty so deliciously 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, for she’d tangled the bedcoverings to such a degree, she’d unwittingly exposed the triangle of red-gold curls between her thighs. Bathed in moonglow, her womanhood was clearly visible, all her sweetness illuminated by the night’s silvery light.

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

Almost as if, unbeknownst to her, the tempting curls and tender, silken flesh begged for a man’s touch.

His touch.

He had to take her. Sakes, he already had, once.

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

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 carnal bliss: his first wife’s hand plucking lightly at her raven-colored nether curls or trailing a slow-moving finger down the length of her sex, so driving him mad with lust as she performed her uninhibited acts of 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 strode 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.

“Straighten the bedcoverings, lass, for I need to rest. ’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.

An intangible, elusive presence, but real. A cruel and relentless foe, and partly of his own making.

That much she knew.

But whatever agonies possessed him, they were too powerful for her to conquer.

Not that he’d let her try. She’d seen his manhood shrivel while he’d looked upon her. Shame and regret pressed down on her until she could scarce breathe, so heavy was the weight of her humiliation.

No wonder he’d taken advantage of her dazed state during one of her visions to consummate their marriage. Such was the only way to have done with the deed as swiftly as possible.

She still found it difficult to believe he’d touched her at all, for she remembered none of the pain her sisters had sometimes spoken about in hushed whispers. Nor had she experience the joy, the great passion, of which the bards e’er sang. She’d experienced none of such wonders, and it was difficult to believe she ever would.

For hadn’t her liege husband stared long at her naked breasts, and with such fierceness she’d thought his gaze would singe her bared skin, yet it was clear he’d found her unworthy.

Untutored as she was in intimate matters, she knew enough to understand what had happened to his male parts.

And the reason for it.

Yet with him making no secret about finding her lacking, why did she still get all aflutter and soft inside each time he turned his dark gaze on her? Why did she ache with a need for something she couldn’t explain?

Something that seemed so close, yet out of her grasp.

Unless she reached out and took it.

She turned her face away as he eased himself onto the bed and stretched out beside her. She didn’t want him to see her hurt and confusion. His reaction to her body, his rejection of her as a woman, had been embarrassment enough.

For a very long time, Linnet lay still in the shadows. The moon had long since sailed on, taking with it the soft glow its silver-blue light had cast over the bedchamber. Not trusting herself to move lest the rise and fall of her chest shatter the fragile peace that accompanied her husband’s sleep, she allowed herself to take only tiny, shallow breaths.

Until, finally, Duncan’s own steady breathing assured her he’d fallen into a deep slumber. Only then did she relax, carefully rolling onto her side to face him.

He rested a good arm’s length away, but the heat from his body reached her, warming her. His masculine scent teased her senses, unleashing the powerful urges she was just beginning to understand. Having him so close disturbed her greatly, but not in an unpleasant manner, merely a perplexing one.

She wished to explore the feelings he stirred in her, relish the new discoveries he could teach her. But their union wasn’t congenial enough for her to risk him knowing the power he held over her.

Nor did she need him to tell her what was happening to her, to her heart.

She knew.

Or at least she had a strong suspicion.

And if her emotions were so clear to her, how could she expect to keep them from him?

Her brothers had often teased her, claiming she couldn’t hide her feelings. Would Duncan guess the truth? Had he already done so? Could he have sensed how she’d trembled in anticipation when she’d awakened to find him standing so unexpectedly before her?

Could he have known her pulse had quickened? Guessed the thought he’d come to spend the night in her arms had sent delicious shivers rippling through her?

Would he ever abandon his demons, ever seek to make their marriage work? Did he suspect how fervently she wished they could do just that?

Did he know she was coming to care for him?

Her heart pinched at the thought. He was a man who wanted nothing to do with gentler emotions. A man who had no place for love in his heart.

And Linnet was convinced he possessed one.

He’d merely locked it away.

Staring at him to assure herself he truly slept, she lightly traced the hard line of his jaw with her fingertips, then smoothed her hand over his tangled mane of black hair. She touched him with careful tenderness, for she knew instinctively that was what he needed most.

And if ever she’d doubted it, she knew now. As daunting a figure he made, stretched upon her bed in all his magnificence, his sleep-relaxed face bore a look of vulnerability that called to her in a way she couldn’t resist.

Gone now, the fearsome and proud warrior with his booming voice and critically narrowed eyes. Stilled, too, his frequent bouts of anger. Sleep had banished the grimness, leaving in its place a man whose face appeared so unguarded, so pure in its dark beauty, she couldn’t resist leaning across the bed and raining gentle kisses on his untroubled brow.

Only a few because she didn’t want to steal the rest she knew he needed nor could she have stood it if he’d awakened and resumed the fierce expression he favored in waking hours.

With a soft sigh, Linnet shifted onto her back and closed her eyes. But not to sleep. Too many cares drifted through her mind for her to rest this night.

Cares she could not control or do anything about.

Now, though, after seeing the mighty MacKenzie of Kintail, the Black Stag, with his guard down, she understood only too well why she found herself fearing him less and caring more.

Casting a furtive glance at him, at his handsome face, almost boyish in sleep, her hold on her own emotions slipped farther out of control. The vulnerability she saw was a discomfiting image paired with the raw, brute strength of his powerful body, the sheer might and vigor she knew coursed through his well-muscled limbs.

Closing her eyes again, she took a deep, ragged breath. She supposed being drawn to him was inevitable.

Her fate deemed by the saints, or perhaps even the old ones, long before she’d taken her first breath.

For ne’er had she been able to resist taming wild creatures. She’d always felt a burning need to aid injured beasts, to nurse them back to health, then set them free.

But Duncan MacKenzie was one beast she doubted could e’er be fully tamed.

Certainly not by her, though she did mean to try.

And if by some miracle she could heal her husband’s heart, letting him go would surely break her own.