Highland Rebel Page 9
“Enough, English. You’re tearing your bandages. You’ll hurt yourself,” she said, trying to wriggle free, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He was rocking against her now and she could feel his shaft, rubbing and prodding, seeking entry to her core. Part of her wanted him to stop—one good shove and he’d tumble to the f loor—but she didn’t want to hurt him, and though the spell was broken, she still wanted to know. She’d be sending him on his way soon. She had no intention of marrying anyone else, and she might never know a man if not this one. No one would blame her if she ended up with child; they suspected she might be already.
Uncertain of exactly what she wanted, she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened herself to him, pressing against his length as he whispered endearments, caressing her with nimble fingers and claiming her lips in a wild kiss, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. When he pushed hard against her, she allowed it, spreading her legs to accommodate him. He entered her in one brusque move.
He was too large! She felt invaded. He filled her and stretched her and all she felt was panic and stinging pain. She gasped in shock and pounded his shoulder, pushing him frantically away. “Get off! Get off! Get Off!”
“Mmmm.” Still feverish, he mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over onto his back, one hand f lung over his head.
If he called her Molly now, she swore she’d kill him! She snorted in disgust. The burning pain between her legs was cooling to an unpleasant ache. She supposed she was a woman now. It had all seemed quite pleasant, right up to the act itself, but she failed to see what was so wonderful that married women sighed for it, grown men killed for it, and poets and storytellers told tales about it. Well… she’d oft been called an unnatural woman. No doubt, somehow, she’d got it wrong. She didn’t suppose it helped when one’s partner was delirious and didn’t even really know or care that one was there.
Unaccountably, she wanted to cry. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a moment later rain fell hissing outside. Wiping away a tear, she settled along his length, pulled up the blankets, and slept until it passed.
***
Two days later, Jamie woke from a dream. It had been a jumbled, incoherent mess. He remembered bits and pieces… his father shouting… his mother’s screams. He could see her with her back against a wall in the arms of a man who wasn’t his father, staring at him with hatred, hissing at him to get away. He turned his head and opened his eyes. He was in a world of blackness, though slowly, moment by moment, it was taking on form. He wondered if he’d been mistaken after all. Perhaps there was an afterlife. If so, this must be hell. Still… he wasn’t cold anymore, and his pain had greatly eased.
He tried to collect his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was hanging by his arms, wet and cold and dying. He caught a movement in a far corner, a thin sliver of light, and he heard someone humming. He tried to sit up, and fell back down immediately. Curse it, he was as weak as a kitten! The humming stopped and he felt a cool hand on his brow, and then a cup was placed to his lips. He drank something sweet and potent, and lay back against his pillow, exhausted. Pillow? There was a snap, a spark of light, and the smell of sulfur, then the lantern was lit. He winced, his eyes sore from the light.
He recognized her scent before he saw her, a heady musk of heather and pine. She sat beside him on a blanket in breeches and boots, her hair f lowing loose, the same fetching gamine that had stirred his blood at the River Clyde. Good God, but life’s uncertain! One moment a fellow’s dying, and the next he’s falling in love.
“Mouse?”
“Yes, English?”
“Why do I smell like a tavern?”
“You don’t remember falling down drunk on our wedding night? I had to hunt you down in the tavern and drag you home.”
He felt a moment’s bewilderment, and then he chuckled. “I think not. But you have managed to bind me with silken cords and drag me to your lair.”
“Yes, I have. The tables have turned, English. You’re my prisoner now. It’s about time you woke up.” She studied him carefully, looking for any trace, any memory of the other night, but it was clear she’d left no impression. She was both relieved and disappointed, but she wasn’t really surprised.
“How did I get here?”
“Like a sack of potatoes, English. I threw you over my mare and brought you. You were in a bad way. You’ve been here over a week now.”
“And you’ve been taking care of me?”
“Sometimes me, sometimes my nurse, Martha. She’s quite taken with you.”
“Why?”
“She thinks you’re bonny and braw and will breed fine sons.”
“No, mouse. Why are you helping me?”
“Did you expect me to leave you to die?”
“Well… yes. I rather thought that was your intention when you failed to f ling yourself in my arms and claim me as your man.”
“I was betrothed, and you are a great impediment to a useful marriage. Had I claimed you, you’d have lost your head in a heartbeat.”
“As opposed to taking their time and pleasure over it.”
“I’m sorry for it, English, but there was naught else I could do.”
“My name is Jamie, love. Do you know, my dear, for complete strangers we share a great deal in common. We both find ourselves saddled with inconvenient spouses.”
He accepted the cup of tea she passed him, enjoying himself as she plumped a pillow and helped ease him into a sitting position. “Now tell me, sweetheart, if I’m so great an impediment, why did you save me? Wouldn’t it have suited you better to see me dead?”
“I didn’t want the betrothal, so for me, it’s very useful to be married to you. It wouldn’t be at all convenient if you were dead.” Although it would have been… so long as they’d never realized who he really was.
“Ah! I see.”
He seemed genuinely disappointed and she relented a little. “Well, there was that… and I also felt I owed you something. Despite your boorishness and ill manners, you did come to my aid at the River Clyde.”
“How awkward it must have been for you, indebted to such a lout.”
“Indeed. We’re even now though, English. Or we will be once you’re on your way.”
“My dear child! I’m shocked and hurt. Why so eager to be rid of me? It’s most unseemly in a wife. I’m usually accredited an interesting fellow by the ladies. I’m sure I’ll grow on you over time. There are few amongst the fairer set that can long resist my charms.” He gave her an appealing grin.
She almost answered with a grin of her own, and then she remembered Molly. “Is that so? You’ll permit me to say I’m surprised. I’ve found you to be highhanded, smug, and… conceited. You f lail about and cry out in your sleep, and every time I’ve seen you, you’ve smelled like a distillery. I can’t say I find that appealing.”
“That’s hardly fair! I’m a British peer. I can’t help but be highhanded, conceited, and smug. As to the rest, I’m an invalid. I assure you, on most occasions, it’s the ladies who f lail about and cry out in my bed.”
She snorted and rose to her feet, turning her head to hide the crimson f lush staining her cheeks.
“Why is it again? That I smell like a tavern?”
“It’s the whiskey. We’ve been using it for medicinal purposes. Why did you come, English? What do you want from me?”
“My name is Jamie. James Sinclair. I came to find you. You’re my wife now, my responsibility.”
“In name only. That’s no reason to travel for days in hostile territory risking accident, capture, and death.”
“Would you believe me if I said I was smitten the moment I first beheld you, and I couldn’t eat, drink, or sleep soundly again until I held you in my arms?”
“No,” she said f latly.
“I thought not. You don’t strike me as the romantic sort. Well… has it occurred to you this business might be terribly inconvenient for me as well? I’m badly in need of funds, my dear. I have a lovely cow-eyed h
eifer… er… heiress… waiting for me back home. One that doesn’t bite or beat me, and whose family don’t wish me dead. I can hardly marry her if I can’t be rid of you.”
Ah, yes, of course! She should have known. Now it was she who was stung. “You don’t strike me as the romantic sort.” Well… no point in holding that against him, she didn’t strike anyone else that way, either. When they looked at her, they saw barrels of whiskey and stacks of gold. “I’ve explained to you, an annulment would inconvenience me right now. Besides, I’m needed here. I can’t go with you.”
“I’m sorry, mouse, but I really must insist.”
“You’re in no position to insist on anything, English.”
“It’s Jamie.”
“My family calls me Cat. Why do you insist on calling me mouse… English?”
“Because you’re such a shy and timid little thing, my love, and when I first saw you, I wanted to scoop you up and put you in my pocket.”
She looked at him carefully, and then threw him a wineskin. “I’ve brought you a treat. If you’re going to smell like it, you might as well enjoy it. There’s water over there, and I’ve brought you biscuits and cheese. Martha will come and check on you tonight. Save your strength. You’ll be needing it. You’ll have to leave here soon, before my cousin returns, or you’ll be trapped here all winter.”
“Well, that hardly seems an evil fate, what with one’s loving wife close by to keep one warm.” He winced as a wrapped bundle landed on his chest with a heavy thud. “Good lord, girl! Are these your biscuits? Remind me not to dismiss my cook.”
She turned to go, ignoring him.
“Wait a moment! Hellcat… Mouse!”
She stopped at the entrance and sighed, then turned to face him. “What?”
“Thank you… for saving my life.”
Catherine regarded him steadily, and then nodded. “Thank you… Jamie… for saving mine.” She slipped out the entrance a moment later and was gone.
Jamie smiled and stretched, groaning as his tortured muscles and tender back complained. His fair maiden had a heart, albeit a f linty one. She’d not abandoned him to torture and death, and she’d nursed him back to health. That was a novelty. No one had ever nursed him before that he could recall. There were unexpected advantages to having a wife, even a bad-tempered, inconvenient one. He grinned. If she thought to use him to keep another at bay, she was badly mistaken. He would bring her to London, and then, at his leisure, he’d decide if he wanted to keep her, or get an annulment and send her back home. She had a streak of honor, his little hellcat. Too bad for her he didn’t. As soon as he was well enough, he’d take her with him, bound and gagged and slung over his saddle if need be. A vision of her fetching behind, laid across his lap and bouncing in front of him as he made his way home, brought a wicked smile to his lips as he drifted off to sleep.
It came as a great surprise two days later when old Martha came with her three strapping sons. They knocked him on the head, bound and gagged him, and put him in a dinghy, rowing him out to toss him aboard a waiting clipper with orders he not be let loose until he was over the border and well on his way to London.
Ten
Jamie rested on his back, his long frame bracketed by two plump redheads, a pretty pair who looked so much alike they might have been twins. He yawned, stretched, and spread his arms wide, bringing his hands to rest on full, firm breasts. He laid there, eyes closed, a smile on his lips, as he captured nipples to his left, and his right. The girl on his left—Lucy, if he recalled—rewarded him by finding his shaft with her stubby little fingers, stroking and squeezing him back. He moaned and turned his head to kiss her partner. Daisy… Dolly? Whoever she was, she was an angel, and her intrepid little fingers joined Lucy’s, playing expertly with his scrotum and chasing all his cares away. He released plump breasts and chuckled, ruff ling both their hair, pulling one and then the other to his mouth for a hot, slow kiss before guiding them down his chest and abdomen to the thrusting erection that strained and twitched for their attention. “Sweet, sweet angels,” he murmured, before losing himself in a haze of warm f lesh, clever fingers, and hot seeking mouths.
Some time later, sated and already a little bored, he leaned across Dolly… or Daisy, patting her on the rump as he pulled the bell cord. “Up you get, my darlings,” he said, planting a kiss on the back of Dolly’s neck before trapping Lucy’s foot and planting one there as well.
She shrieked and kicked, laughing and giggling, “That tickles, my lord!”
He grinned and released her. They were sweet, accommodating lasses. Their tender ministrations had eased his night, letting him sleep, banishing, if only for a short while, all his troubles, but the light of day was cracking through the thickly draped window, and it must be nearly noon. His creditors would be at the doorstep soon if not already, and it was time for the girls to leave.
“Ah, Sullivan! Good day to you. Ladies, this is my man Sullivan. There’s no finer fellow in all of London. Sullivan, would you be so kind as to have Cook send us some chocolate? Oh, and bring me my purse if you please.”
Lucy squealed and clapped her hands with excitement. “Chocolate, my lord? They say it’s wondrous good!”
“Aye, bloody marvelous is what I’ve heard,” Dolly chimed in. “Never tried it, though. It’s only the quality can afford that.”
“Well, my dears, it’s criminal ladies as wondrous fair as your sweet selves have never tried it. Have no fear, we shall soon set all to rights,” Jamie said, rising from the bed.
“Milord, if you please! Put some clothing on! I’ve no mind to watch your private bits dangling about. The ladies may not object, but I most certainly do,” Sullivan huffed as he returned with the purse.
Jamie leaned into Dolly’s shoulder. “He’s Irish, my dear, up from the country and a prude. Pay him no mind. Hand me my breeches, will you, love?”
Giggling, Dolly handed him his breeches and he hopped over to the fauteuil, pulling them on as the ladies searched for their discarded dresses and hose. They hurried over to join him by the fire, squealing with excitement when a footman arrived with an ornate chocolate pot and elegant porcelain cups. It was an unheard-of luxury to them, and they crowded around Jamie, leaning over his shoulders in awe and delight as they watched him prepare it and pour.
“Ladies?” he said, offering a delicate cup to one and then the other. “This is a magical beverage brewed for a mighty God of fertility on the far side of the world. Only the richest and most favored there may drink it. Savor it, my loves. Sip it like so, and enjoy its aroma as well as its f lavor.” He showed them how, and they gravely followed suit, gasping in astonished pleasure.
“Oh, my lord, ’tis better than anything! It’s even better than fucking!”
“For shame, girls! It might be better than coupling with the dour Mr. Sullivan, but surely not with me,” he said, pretending to be affronted and sending them into gales of laughter. “Sullivan? Would you care to join us?”
“Er… no thank you, milord,” Sullivan said, eyeing Jamie’s bounteous half-clad companions and backing away.
Jamie took his time with his chocolate, teasing his companions and enjoying their obvious pleasure and excitement as they savored the unexpected treat. When they were finished, he tossed them the purse and they scrambled for it, wrestling and giggling.
“Thank you, ladies, for your gracious company. I do apologize for cutting our visit short, but I’ve a great deal to attend to, I’m afraid. Mr. Sullivan? Would you kindly take the young ladies to the kitchen for a meal? I can attest to their appetite.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Thank you, and when they’ve finished please arrange a carriage to take them home. Ladies?” he said, bowing and taking their hands one by one for a lingering kiss. “Adieu.”
Starry-eyed and blushing, they followed Mr. Sullivan from the room.
Jamie watched them leave, then closed his eyes and sighed. He felt bored, restless, and tired, all at the same tim
e. He should have let them stay to wile away the afternoon. They’d not have minded. They would have been glad for it. But he was in a foul mood and he hadn’t the patience to be kind, nor the inclination to be cruel. He finished dressing, went to the mantel, stirred the fire, and poured himself a drink. Sitting down, he crossed booted feet against the windowsill and tossed the brandy back.
“Rather early for that isn’t it, sir?”
“A pox on you, Sullivan. Mind your own business.”
“You are my business, sir. The… ladies… have left.”
“Yes? So? What of it? You have something to say? Spit it out, man.”
“Very well. How is it you can afford to be so generous to these young women when you cannot settle the household accounts?”
“What? Have I forgotten to pay the staff again? Have no fear. I’ll be in funds again this evening.”
“That’s not the point, milord.”
“Then what exactly is the point? I’m losing patience.”
“A carriage? Chocolate, breakfast, and a purse? These are luxuries we can ill afford, milord. Yet you bestow them on strumpets, treating them as if they were the finest ladies of the court.”
“Good Christ, man! Since when do I need to justify myself to you or anyone else? Do you begrudge them the chocolate? You saw how pleased they were. They’re good-hearted lasses, their life is hard, and it’s likely the first and only time they’ll enjoy such a treat.”
“It’s the purse I begrudge, milord! It’s not you who’ll be turning creditors from the door all day. It’s not you who has to go to the market or tell the servants they must wait for their pay. You gave then two guineas, milord!”
“Ah… did I? Well, you’re right then, Sullivan. It was far too much. Why didn’t you say something sooner? You might have warned me. Isn’t that your job?”