Page 24 of Tempted
“Perhaps,” she whispered, but when he again lowered his mouth to hers, she slipped away playfully and ducked beneath a heavily laden bough. He did not hesitate to pursue and capture her. This time he brought her body close to his and pressed her against his hardness. “Little wanton, ye know what ye do tae me,” he said raggedly.
“What?” she asked innocently, her eyes brimful of mischief.
Patrick Hamilton was a very experienced man with ladies of the sporting variety, and up until tonight he had always had a strict code of behavior toward unmarried girls of high birth. But Flaming Tina Kennedy was a force to be reckoned with. More than any female he’d ever desired, either whore or virgin, she made a man think of bed and fucking.
He decided to break his code of behavior. He bent his lips to her ear and whispered, “Ye are cockteasing.”
Tina had to stand on tiptoe to put her lips against his ear. “Am I good at it?” she whispered outrageously.
“Damned good!” he said aloud. “I think ye’ve had lots of practice. Is it true ye’ve turned down six proposals?”
She laughed up into his handsome face. “Six marriage proposals, but scores of indecent proposals.”
He laughed at her candor, then exhaled a slow breath of desire. Though her interest in him was undisguised, he feared she would not succumb to his wiles. “Ye know exactly how tae twist men about yer fingers. Ye refuse a proposal and twist them tighter.”
“Not guilty, Patrick. I truly didn’t want to wed any of them.”
He slipped an arm about her, then took her chin in his other hand and held her so that he could look deeply into her eyes. “What about me, Tina?”
“You have a most comfortable pair of arms, my lord.”
He smiled, knowing she would make him spell it out in plain language. “Do ye think I could make Lady Kennedy become Lady Hamilton?”
“Patrick, I must be totally honest with you. I told my father flatly I did not wish to be married. He told me in no uncertain terms that I must marry. He advised me to choose while the choice was still mine. The alternative would be a forced marriage, chosen either by Archibald Kennedy or the king.”
She was easily the loveliest woman he’d ever held. Too, she had a most exciting quality about her, as if she were ready to kick over the traces, and more than anything on earth he wanted to be the man to teach her the mysteries of her own sexuality. “Sweet, are ye telling me that I am yer choice?”
“I am telling you that I am in no hurry to marry, but that I should like to be wooed. I am telling you that perhaps I would enjoy being your sweetheart. Then, if we find that we love each other, we could be betrothed. I’m told that leads to marriage.” The look in her eyes held all the fatal power of destruction.
He groaned and covered her mouth with his, this time kissing her deeply. “Tina, I’d be unwilling tae wait that long for ye.”
The man on guard at Doon’s gate tower saw the lone rider in the dark plaid and raised the portcullis. He shook his head and laughed to himself, for obviously it was another suitor for Valentina. The torches on the gatehouse showed the dark head of the clansman and the dark greens of the tartan, and the guard guessed that it was either a Campbell or a Gordon. Both men were heirs to powerful earldoms, and he wished he could be present when the man riding in discovered that the heir to the powerful Arran and cousin to the king already had his feet under the table.
Ram Douglas rode up to Doon Castle and across the drawbridge with cold deliberation. God help any who stood in his path. A young Kennedy groom came forward to take his horse, but one look at the enormous beast stopped him short. He saw that the black devil was savage and ready to attack anyone who approached with teeth and hooves. The groom ran back into the stables.
The Black Ram dismounted and tethered Ruffian securely. He strode into the castle as if he owned it. No one even considered stopping him. He had all the arrogant poise and confidence of a man who knew his own power. He walked a direct path to the great hall. The servants moved back to make way for him.
“Donal Kennedy.” His voice was deep, resonant, and commanding.
Donal looked up from his leather tankard, and Ram Douglas saw the burly figure, the full-bearded face, the piercing eyes. He saw those eyes widen in recognition.
There was no mistaking the swart darkness of Black Ram Douglas. Holy Christ, how had he found out? Donal’s claymore was at the ready, but he never even got the chance to unsheath it. Ramsay swung his weapon high with both powerful arms and brought the flat of the broadsword down full force upon Donal Kennedy’s head. It felled him instantly. He dropped like a dead horse.
Duncan Kennedy stared in disbelief at the scene that met his eyes as he came into the back of the hall from the kitchen. He saw his brother go down, and even from behind he knew a dreaded Douglas when he saw one. He drew his dirk and launched himself from behind.
The Black Douglas had the eyes and ears of a hawk. He did not need to turn around to know he was being assailed. His elbow smashed into Duncan’s belly, doubling him over; then the heavy hilt of Ram’s knife came up under Duncan’s chin with an uppercut that knocked out a tooth and embedded it in his tongue. Blood was everywhere.
Davie was in the solar plucking out a tune on a lute when he heard the commotion. He thought that most likely Donal had had too much to drink and had picked a fight with Patrick Hamilton. Not wanting to miss the fun, he ran down the winding stone staircase that led to the hall. His face turned ashen as he saw the fury of Black Ram Douglas. The intruder snatched the lute from David’s hands and smashed it against the wall The wooden, pear-shaped body splintered away, leaving a jagged neck with its fretted fingerboard. Ram jabbed it into Davie’s throat as he growled, “Vicious young bastard!”
In spite of his damaged mouth Duncan had cried the alarm, and now red Kennedys were gathering from every direction. Ram grabbed Davie with one powerful arm and wielded his sword with the other. None dared to make a move against him. Ram knew he had timed his one-man assault perfectly. Every last Kennedy had been drinking heavily, and there was none to challenge the Douglas might.
Ramsay’s voice rang through the castle: “Restore my cattle, or face the consequences! If it’s reiving ye want, it’s reiving ye’ll get!” he promised with relish Before he came to Doon, he’d had a notion to take back his young prisoner and hold him for ransom, but now with great contempt for the cowardice of a clan who would raid knowing another clan would be blamed, he flung David Kennedy away from him and watched dispassionately as he hit his head against a fireplace and sank to the flagstones.
Ramsay turned to leave, disappointment surging inside him that there were not more of them to put up a fight. He still had a hot ball of fury burning inside his gut that needed an outlet. He flung open the heavy studded door and heard the seductive laughter of a woman very sure of her prey. A couple were kissing before they came inside.
Douglas stood to one side to let them enter and stared directly into the eyes of Patrick Hamilton. “Christ’s passion!” he swore, his pewter eyes glittering with hatred “The bloody rotten Hamiltons in cahoots with the cowardly Kennedys!” He spat on the floor to rid his mouth of the taste of their names.
Patrick Kennedy had no idea what Douglas was talking about, but it made little difference to him. Here was his hereditary enemy. They’d lived their entire lives at each other’s throats. Their castles were built almost nose to nose, and the two clans were bitter rivals because of territory, ambition, and the ruthless power-mongering of Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, and James Hamilton, Earl of Arran. Even the king knew better than to put them on border patrol at the same time, and he was forever at them to sign a bond of friendship or at least declare a truce.
