A Taste of Sin (18 page)

He was so insistent that she didn’t argue. She lay on her side, her head resting on her folded hands. “Now what?”

“Just relax.”

She felt his hands move down her back, rubbing the taut muscles rising along the valley of her spine. It felt so good that she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. He continued to massage away the ache, his hands firm yet gentle upon her, until she was so relaxed she felt as limp as a child’s rag doll.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Sinjun said.

“Of course not,” she drawled sleepily. “Shall I rub liniment on your sore muscles?”

“There’s only one muscle that needs soothing right now,” he whispered into her ear.

Christy’s eyes flew open when she felt his hands skim along the outsides of her thighs, drawing her skirts up with them. She jerked reflexively when he bent and placed a kiss on her bare bottom.

“Sinjun! What are you doing?” She rolled over on her back.

“Kissing your bottom.”

She tried to sit up, but he straddled her legs, pinning her to the bed. “They’re waiting supper for us.”

“Let them wait.”

He released her legs and lifted her to her knees, kneeling behind her. She choked back a cry when she felt his shaft stroke her buttocks, then dip into the moist crevice between her thighs. She couldn’t help herself. Her hips pressed against his loins, and she felt his body respond with an instant, powerful arousal.

“Let me know if I hurt you.” His voice was gruff with desire as he opened her with his fingers and slowly entered her. A soft sigh hissed through her teeth. Then he thrust himself to the hilt. She groaned, grinding her hips against his loins.

Suddenly he pulled out and sat back on his heels. She gave a cry of protest and collapsed onto her stomach.

“I’m sorry. ‘Tis too hard on you,” Sinjun said, panting. “I want you so damn bad I forget you’re increasing. Turn around, sweetheart. Let me undress you so we can do this properly.”

Dazed, Christy merely stared at him as he skillfully rid her of her clothing. Scant moments later he covered her with his body, kissing her, ravaging her mouth with desperate need. She kissed him back, her arms circling his neck, her legs parting to take him between them.

He covered her breasts with his hands and dropped his lips to her arching throat. His lips slid downward, taking a pouting nipple in his mouth and suckling her.

“Sinjun, please.”

“You ask so prettily, how can I deny you anything?” Sinjun said as he placed her legs over his shoulders and pushed himself inside her.

Surrendering completely, Christy gave herself up to loving. She would have flung herself wildly against him if Sinjun hadn’t been in complete control of both himself and her.

Sinjun was encouraged by the sounds of her pleasure and the sight of her lovely face glazed with passion. He squeezed her buttocks/suckled her nipples; he couldn’t seem to get enough of this complex woman who carried his child. He tried to control his lust but it utterly defeated him as he drove himself deep inside her. He watched her closely for any sign of discomfort and was thrilled to see that she was as lost to passion as he. Her eyes were half dosed, her expression suffused with joy. He pistoned his hips against her, clenched his teeth and concentrated on giving pleasure. He heard her cry out, a sharp, piercing sound of ecstasy, felt her spasm around him, shattering his control. Everything he had to give drained out of him into her body. Had it been within his power, he would have given her more.

Long minutes passed before he found the energy to lift himself away from her. She turned toward him, her eyes dosed, her face so pale a spear of panic shot through him. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I’m tired … so tired.”

He reached down and pulled the blanket over her. “Shall I send a tray up to you?”

“Aye, that would be nice. Tell Margot I won’t need her tonight.”

Sinjun was quiet throughout supper, and no one seemed inclined to disturb him. He’d seen to a tray for Christy, made her excuses, and proceeded to eat with good appetite. Afterward he didn’t linger in the hall. He bid Margot and Rory good night and climbed the stairs to Christy’s chamber. He frowned when he saw her untouched tray on the nightstand. But she was sleeping so soundly he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. Obviously she needed sleep more than she needed food.

Undressing quickly, he slid into bed beside her and took her into his arms. Without awakening, she heaved a sigh and curled up against him.

The following weeks flew by. Christy wasn’t the only one who put on weight. Sinjun found he enjoyed physical activity and joined Rory and the workers nearly every day. His bulging muscles grew apace with his appetite. His torso broadened, his arms strengthened; he had never looked so fit or felt so healthy.

Christy had let out his clothing so many times that he finally had to ask Rory to loan him something sturdy to work in. When the first snow arrived in early December, the cottages were in good repair. Sinjun took great pride in knowing that no villager would suffer because of inadequate housing. Christy had purchased blankets and woolen material from traveling peddlers and distributed them to her clansmen. Since Calum had been so adamantly opposed to accepting anything from an Englishman, the Camerons weren’t as snug and warm as the Macdonalds, Ranalds, and Mackenzies.

Sinjun had taken it upon himself to hire additional help for Glenmoor. Each day four young kinswomen arrived at Glenmoor, and each evening they returned to their homes in the village. December arrived on the wings of a fierce snowstorm, and plans for a Christmas celebration were begun. All the clansmen were invited to participate, and Sinjun promised to provide the Yule log.

Though Sinjun still shared Christy’s bed, he tried to keep his loving as gentle as possible, and many nights he just held her without making love. Her body was heavy now with his child, and he knew that before long it would be injurious to their child to continue sexual relations.

Christmas Day dawned cold and gray. The Yule log burned merrily in the hearth, holly decorated the hall, and spiced ale was consumed in great quantities, creating a feeling of goodwill. Even the Camerons seemed on their best behavior. Sinjun had a gift for Christy and sought her out toward the end of the evening to give it to her.

She was sitting with Tavis Ranald’s wife, and Sinjun motioned for her to attend him. She sent him a puzzled look but rose willingly enough and followed him from the hall into the study.

“Is something wrong, Sinjun?” Christy asked once they were alone.

“Sit down,” Sinjun said, handing her into a comfortable chair. “I wanted to give you my gift without everyone gawking.”

Christy’s eyes lit up. “You have a gift for me?”

“Aye. I bought it in Inverness the day Rory and I went to buy building material.” He opened the desk drawer, removed a velvet pouch, and placed it in her hand.

Christy unknotted the cord and spilled the contents into her palm. Her gasp of delight was all the thanks Sinjun needed.

“Sinjun! Emeralds! ‘Tis too much.” The necklace consisted of a large emerald suspended from a circlet of smaller emeralds.

“I can afford it. They match your eyes, and I wanted you to have them. Will you wear them?”

“Aye. Gladly.” She handed him the necklace and turned her back. Sinjun placed the gems around her neck and secured the clasp, then he turned her to face him.

“They look beautiful on you.”

“I have something for you,” Christy said. “Wait here.”

She was gone before Sinjun could reply. He wasn’t expecting anything and wondered how and where she had obtained a gift for him. He didn’t have long to wonder. She returned a few minutes later carrying a bulky, cloth-wrapped package. Smiling, she placed it in his hands.

“Go on, open it,” she urged when he merely stared at her.

Sinjun didn’t know why his hands were shaking. He’d received gifts before from beautiful women, but somehow they hadn’t meant as much as this crudely wrapped gift from his wife. He set the package on the desk and carefully removed the wrapping. The breath caught in his throat when he saw what was inside—winter clothing fashioned to accommodate his newly acquired muscles. He drew forth woolen breeches, a crisp white shirt, and a woolen waistcoat. Also included was a tunic like the ones worn by the Highlanders. But that wasn’t all. Beneath all the fine, warm clothing lay a velvet cloak lined in fur.

Sinjun was stunned. “Did you make these?”

“Aye. I bought the material from a peddler, and Rory trapped beaver for the cloak lining.”

“When did you have time?’

“While you were working in the village. Margot helped. You assumed we were making baby clothes. We did make baby clothes, of course, but we made these in our spare time. I seem to have plenty of spare time since you hired extra help.”

After that Sinjun couldn’t have cared less about the Camerons, their disgruntled looks, or their threats. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Christy. Tonight might be the last time they could love without endangering their child. According to Christy, their child would be born in early March. Sinjun knew the child’s birth would require some decisions on his part, but he wasn’t going to let anything destroy tonight.

Chapter 9

J
anuary ushered in a deep freeze. Sinjun spent long hours sitting before the hearth, drinking mulled wine and watching his wife sew the countless little garments that would clothe their child. And he grew restless. He knew Christy must have noticed his unrest, for he caught her staring at him with a somber look when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He couldn’t help thinking about the Season his friends were enjoying now in London; the fancy balls, the theater, the opera, the galas. It wasn’t as if he had been unhappy these past few months, it was just that he didn’t know if spending his life in the Scottish Highlands was what he wanted to do. Inactivity had given him too much time to wonder what he might be missing in London.

Shortly after Christmas a message arrived from Julian, hand delivered by John Coachman. After receiving Sinjun’s earlier missive, Julian had delved into Sir Oswald’s accounts and found that the bailiff they had all trusted had been skimming funds and illegally raising rents and taxes in order to keep an expensive mistress. Julian wrote that the man had been caught boarding a ship for France and was now in Newgate prison awaiting trial, and that he would notify Sinjun when the trial was to be held, for his testimony would be required. Julian also demanded to know why Sinjun had decided to remain in Scotland without a word of explanation.

Sinjun carefully worded his reply so as to reveal as little about Christy as possible. He wanted to tell Julian in person about Christy and his child, to watch his brother’s expression when he placed his son and heir in Julian’s arms. Despite Christy’s desire to have a daughter, Sinjun felt strongly that he was going to have a son.

Sinjun told Julian he intended to remain at Glenmoor until early summer, unless he was needed before that for Sir Oswald’s trial. He grinned to himself, imagining Julian’s bewilderment when he read the reply. In the past, nothing had kept Sinjun from the gaiety of a London Season.

A thaw occurred in early February, and Sinjun decided he’d had his fill of idleness. He found Rory in the stables and suggested they ride out to see how the villagers were faring.

It felt damn good to have prime horseflesh beneath his thighs and a cold wind clearing the cobwebs from his brain. The sight of sheep huddled together for warmth brought a smile to Sinjun’s lips. Months ago he would have scorned such peace and tranquility, if one could call living among volatile Highlanders peaceful.

It was just as they had stopped to watch the sheep that disaster struck. An arrow whizzed past Sinjun’s ear. Rory called out a warning and reached for his bow, but the warning came too late. Moments later a second arrow sped from behind a stand of trees, this one lodging high in Sinjun’s shoulder. Had he not heeded Rory’s warning and crouched, it would have found its mark in his heart. Sinjun grasped his shoulder and hit the ground, his blood staining the dirt-encrusted snow.

The arrows ceased the moment Sinjun fell. The attackers had left as stealthily as they had come. Rory dismounted and crouched beside Sinjun, lifting him to inspect the damage.

Though awash in pain, Sinjun remained conscious. “What happened?”

“Camerons, I suspect. Can ye stand? I dinna want to take the arrow out yet until I ken how much damage occurred. I dinna want ye to bleed to death before I can get ye back to Glenmoor. Hang on, Sinjun, Mary will fix ye up all right and proper.”

“Just get me on my horse,” Sinjun said through gritted teeth.

Rory helped Sinjun stand, then boosted him onto his horse. The animal seemed to know his cooperation was needed, for he stood absolutely still as Sinjun anchored himself in the saddle.

“We’ll take it slow,” Rory said, grasping Sinjun’s trailing reins and mounting his own horse.

Sinjun recalled little of the trip back to Glenmoor. Blood soaked through his tunic as he swayed drunkenly in the saddle. Though the pain was excruciating, he didn’t believe the wound was life-threatening. He’d ducked at the right moment, thanks to Rory’s warning. Apparently Calum Cameron was willing to commit murder to get rid of him. He knew Calum hated Englishmen, as did most of the Highlanders, but he never thought it would come to this. He’d begun to believe he had made inroads toward gaining the clan’s trust.