Page 50 of The Devil in Plaid
Fiona nodded. “Aye.”
Abby giggled, and Esme rolled her eyes at her wee sister. “Should we still wake ye on the morrow?”
“Aye,” Fiona answered. Then she winked at Abby. “Only knock first.”
Abby’s giggles followed Fiona into Jamie’s chamber.
After Julia helped Fiona remove her surcotte and tunic, Fiona dismissed her and curled up in one of the chairs near the hearth, wrapping herself in the MacLeod plaid. She looked at the carvings that had once struck fear into her heart. Now, the wee demon faces told her a story. They showed how far a mother would go to protect her wee bairns.
Jamie entered the room a few minutes later. She shifted in her seat near the hearth and drank in the sight of his towering height and strong physique. As he crossed the room, lighter streaks of gold in his hair glinted in the candlelight. He slid into the chair next to hers and their eyes met. His hard expression softened.
“Ye’re thoughts are heavy tonight,” Fiona observed.
He nodded grimly. “I’ve spent much of the day engrossed in planning for the battle ahead. Yer father sent several messages with Alasdair, and I’ve had confirmation from my cousin that he will indeed send men to aid our strike.”
She shook her head. “It is all too horrible to believe. My heart breaks when I think of what happened to Adam and his father.”
Jamie reached out and took her hands. “I ken ye must still mourn for yer betrothed.”
She nodded. “I do. Adam was a good man, as was his father.”
Jamie looked at her curiously. “Did ye love him?”
Fiona remembered Adam’s youthful smile. “Nay, I did not love him, but I considered myself lucky to be betrothed to him. He was kind and gentle. My father might have promised me to an old man or a hard man.”
He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Ye mean like me, a hard man.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes smoldered.
“Did Adam ever kiss ye good and proper?” he asked.
“I…I do not ken what ye mean.”
“This is what I mean,” he rasped.
His lips closed over hers. He crushed her against his hard chest. His hand stroked down her torso, then back up. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he kissed her harder. His tongue pressed against her closed mouth. She gasped, her lips parting. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking, caressing, stirring awake a need from deep within. The heat of his body surrounded hers. His scent, warm and masculine, teased her senses. Her fingers bit into his muscular arms as his kiss deepened further. She trembled. Soft moans escaped her lips. She leaned into him as a fire within her lit and grew, burgeoning into flames of passionate heat. Unbidden, her tongue met his, tasting, stroking, wanting.
Suddenly, he tore his lips from hers and thrust her away from him, holding her at arms-length. His eyes bore into hers, fiery with passion. His breathing came in great heaves as did her own.
“That is what it means to be good and kissed,” he growled. Then, he released her arms, turned on his heel, and thundered out of the room.
Her heart pounded. Her fingers flew to her bruised lips as she stared at the now closed door.
Dear God above, she never knew a kiss could be so consuming. In his arms, the world had fallen away and all that had existed was their bodies, hot and heaving, their lips, searching and hungry, their tongues, stroking, stirring. It had felt so good, too good. The pleasure had become an ache so sweet but so severe, building a hunger within her, which she knew not how to satiate.
Her heart continued to race as she continued to stare at the door. When her pulse had quieted, and her breathing returned to normal, she retreated to the bed. But she lay awake, the ache in her body refusing to go away.
~ * ~
Jamie stormed from his chamber, desire raging through him, fierce and hungry. He had never wanted a woman more. He stopped in his tracks.
She was his wife. Why had he stopped? Why was she not still in his arms, soft and wanting? He had been sure of her desire. Her response to their kiss had been innocent yet hungry. And that hunger had nearly driven him to unrestrained passion.
He shook his head.
When he at last made love to her, he needed to be in control of himself. He needed to make sure he didn’t frighten her, or worst of all…hurt her again.
He clenched his fists, angry at himself as the memory of her bruised wrists came to the fore of his mind. The pain he had inflicted had begun to heal. The markings were now a shadow of what they had been, but they would haunt him for the rest of his days. He could not risk losing control again. He reached the end of the hallway and ascended a narrow staircase that circled around and around until finally he reached a doorway that led him out onto the battlements.
He stood looking out over the baily and beyond to the rolling moorland, breathing deep the night air. Above him the black sky shone with points of light, and the moon hung full in the sky. He welcomed the quiet and the peace, but then, suddenly, a noise drew his gaze. He spotted two shadowy figures stealing across the far side of the parapet.
“Hold,” he shouted, thundering after them. When he drew closer, he recognized Fiona’s maid.
“Abby,” he called, but still she fled. In front of her was a young man. They reached the end of the ramparts, but the young couple had no place to go. They stopped and turned. It was, indeed, Fiona’s young maid and the lad who had sat with her earlier in the hall. Both hung their heads, their gazes trained on the floor, testifying to their guilt.
Jamie stood in front of the them, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze trailed first over the young man who could not have been ten and seven but was tall and well built. Then his gaze passed over Abby. Her unbound blonde hair hung in tangled disarray, and her tunic was unbelted and sliding down one shoulder.
“I don’t need to ask what ye’ve both been up to,” Jamie began, “but I do have to ask if ye’ve lost yer mind, Abby. If I had a sister like Esme, I would think twice about a dalliance on the battlements after dark.”
Abby drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t tell Esme, my laird. She will never again allow me to set foot from the keep.”
He gave her a stern look, but then he turned to the young man. “Ye’re awfully quiet. What is yer name?”
“Thomas,” the young man replied, at last meeting Jamie’s gaze. “Please, do not punish Abby or tell her sister. I will take whatever punishment ye see fit, my laird. Put me in the stocks. Take the strap to my back.”
At least he seemed to truly care for Abby.
Jamie fought to keep a smile from his face. “I do not think any of that will be necessary, lad. However, I will put ye to work. Report to the training fields bright and early. War is at hand, and I can use a strong lad like yerself.” Then he turned to Abby. “Yer lady is going to be busy tomorrow. She is taking on her duties here in the keep. Ye will assist her.” Furrowing his brow, to ensure he looked as threatening as possible, he said, “I need both of ye to promise me that ye will not see each other or speak to one another for a full week as penance.”
“I promise,” Abby blurted out.
Thomas bowed at the waist to Jamie. “Aye, my laird. I promise as well, and thank ye for being so merciful and wise and—”
Jamie shook his head. “Enough, just get ye both to bed.” They scurried past him. “To yer own, separate beds,” he called after them.
Apparently, there was nothing like intruding upon the clumsy affection of youth to cool his own desire. He shook his head at the young couple retreating into the keep, then strode back the way he’d come. Taking a last breath of fresh air, he turned away from the night and wound his way down the stone stairs. When he reached the door to his chambers, he quietly eased it opened. The fire in the hearth crackled. Candlelight illuminated his quarters. His gaze was drawn to the bed where he could see her small outline beneath the blankets. He let his plaid drop to the floor before he climbed in beside her. “I’m glad ye’re back,” she whispered.
He pulled her close, nestling her in his arms. “Goodnight, Fiona,” he crooned softly in her ear.
She nestled closer to him. The feel of her soft, round bottom renewed the ache in his body. He longed to taste her lips, to feel her skin, but he would restrain himself until he knew she was truly ready, despite the pain it caused him.
