A Taste of Sin (35 page)

He felt her shiver as his lips traced a flaming path down her stomach. Spreading her legs wide, he placed them over his shoulders. When he parted the silken fleece protecting her womanhood with a blunt fingertip, a slow hiss escaped through her teeth. And when that same blunt finger found her moist, dew-drenched center, she cried out his name.

But it wasn’t enough. Sinjun wanted to hear her scream with pleasure. He watched her face as he slid a finger inside her. She appeared transfixed, her eyes glazed, as if waiting for him to take her to the next level. Happy to oblige, he placed his mouth over the hard nub at the juncture of her thighs and sucked it into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she arched up into the hot cavern of his mouth as his tongue slid wetly over her and his fingers tormented her.

She was panting, writhing, sobbing, but still he continued, each lash of his tongue bringing her closer to sweet oblivion.

Her breath escaped in a scalding rush. The rough velvet of his tongue was driving her mad with divine, tormenting ecstasy. Again and again he tasted her, driving her higher with each torrid stroke. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as his hands cupped her bottom and brought her deeper into the heat of his mouth. Her body was awash in pleasure, trembling, silently screaming for him to release her.

Then he did. She felt the contractions begin deep within her core as piercing rapture turned her body into a mass of sensitive, quivering flesh. She heard someone scream, shocked when she realized it was her own voice she’d heard. On and on it went, until she collapsed inside and went limp.

Slowly she floated back to reality. Her eyes opened, glazed and unfocused. Sinjun sat on his haunches between her legs, his eyes midnight blue and smoky, his shaft still rigid and thick. His expression was strained and darkly intense.

“Put me inside you, love.” His voice was heated and raw, as if his control was hanging by a frayed thread.

Meeting his scalding gaze, she took him into her hands and brought him to her core. A gust of expelled breath whispered against her cheek as he slid inside her. Her arms crept around him and clung, mutely urging him deeper … as deep as he could go, until he had no more to give.

She stared up at him; he was embedded to the hilt inside her, his arms braced on either side of her head. His muscles corded and bulged as he began to move. Slowly at first, as if he wanted to draw out the pleasure. Then, as if driven by an emotional upheaval, savage urgency overtook him and his hips pounded a frantic rhythm, grinding, churning, rekindling the flame inside her.

Snared in the same wild frenzy, Christy scored his back with her nails as he thrust forcefully, again and again. Her blood caught fire. She was being torn apart, twisted and swirled in a tempest of erotic pleasure, reaching for rapture with each surge of his shaft inside her center.

Sinjun knew he was dying. Those tiny, trembling contractions he felt inside her milked his shaft, bringing him closer to the edge of fulfillment. He caught her wail of ecstasy in his mouth, her spasms spurring his own, and then all thought fled, leaving nothing but the hunger driving him and the woman in his arms. His body stiffened; a ragged cry ripped from his throat and his seed erupted, hot and scorching, from his body into hers.

Unable to speak, much less breathe, Sinjun waited several long minutes before he was able to move. His heart was still pounding against his rib-cage when he lifted himself off and away, settling next to her on the bed.

“Do you still want to leave, love?” he whispered into the tense silence.

“No,” Christy said on what sounded suspiciously like a sob. “I never want to leave you, Sinjun, but I have to. Try to understand my position.”

“What about your position as my wife?”

“I’ll always be your wife. You must know that. Leaving Niall is ripping me apart. Please reconsider your ultimatum. I swear I’ll keep Niall safe for you.”

“You’re not taking Niall and that’s final.” His voice was grim with determination, thick with anger. “We’ve gone through this before, Christy. I haven’t changed my mind. I was hoping you’d change yours. The only way I’ll let Niall leave is if we all go to the Highlands together.”

“That’s out of the question,” Christy argued. “The situation can be solved without English interference. I already explained that bringing English soldiers to Glenmoor will cost innocent lives. I’ll leave Gavin and Effie behind to see to Niall’s welfare in my absence.”

“Blast you!” Sinjun spat. He was beyond understanding, beyond patience, beyond caring. He leaped from bed, gathering his scattered clothing and muttering imprecations beneath his breath.

“Remember one thing, madam. Whatever happens now is your doing. You cannot blame this parting on me. ‘Twas your choice to leave Niall.”

“No! Blast
you,
Lord Derby, for not understanding a damn thing about Highlanders. Leaving Niall behind is not my choice. I am not abandoning my son. I
will
return to him and I
will
be with him, no matter what you say.”

“Like hell!”

She continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Trust Effie to find a wetnurse for Niall.”

Bitterness dripped from his words. “Anything else?”

She searched his face, then looked away as if the sight of him was painful. “There’s one more thing you should know before I leave.”

He yanked on his breeches and shirt, impatient now to get as far away from Christy Macdonald as possible. He’d done everything but get down on his hands and knees and beg her to stay, and he had too much pride for that.

“What is it? Make it fast, my patience is exhausted.”

“I know you don’t care, but I feel compelled to say it anyway. I love you, Sinjun. I’ve loved you for a very long time. There, ‘tis done. Take care of my bairn.”

Speechless, Sinjun stared at her. Was this another of her lies? Why would she tell him such a thing now? “I sincerely hope you don’t mean that, Christy.”

He picked up his boots and headed for the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused and grinned at her over his shoulder.

“Perhaps I put another babe inside you today.”

His laughter followed him out the door.

“I love you, Sinjun,” Christy whispered into the cold emptiness of the room. “Feeling as you do, I pray God you
haven’t
put another bairn in my belly.”

Christy left the following morning after an emotional parting. Niall was too young to understand and waved her off with a gurgle of laughter. Christy couldn’t have left if she hadn’t known Niall would be in good hands. She even delayed her leaving until Effie found a wetnurse for her son. The baker’s daughter had just given birth to a child and had abundant milk to spare. Her husband had been injured in an accident, and she eagerly accepted the wages Sinjun offered.

Betsy agreed to move into the townhouse with her son and injured husband in order to be on hand for Mall’s feedings. It wouldn’t be for long, Christy thought, for Niall was already accepting mashed foods and nursed less frequently.

Christy didn’t expect Sinjun to be on hand to bid her good-bye, and he wasn’t. Truth to tell, she didn’t think she could bear to see him.

“Go with God,” Effie said as Rory handed Christy into the coach and four that would carry them to the Highlands. “If anyone can prevent bloodshed between the clans, ‘tis ye, Laird Christy Macdonald. Dinna worry about Niall. I’ll keep him safe for ye until ye return.”

Gavin echoed Effie’s promise and warned Rory to take care. Christy knew the journey was not without danger, for there was always the threat of highwaymen and accidents. Fortunately Rory was well armed. He had two flintlock pistols hidden beneath the seat and a claymore beside him. And, of course, the dirk he carried in his boot.

Much to Christy’s relief, the only enemy they encountered on the road was the incessant rain that pounded down upon them. She felt sorry for Rory, who was perched high in the driver’s box, bearing the brunt of the cold, raw rain while she huddled inside the jostling conveyance beneath a blanket. Twice the wheels became mired in mud and she was forced to leave the coach while Rory worked to free them.

The disreputable posting inns offering shelter for the night left much to be desired. Christy sometimes found herself sharing a room with up to four women while Rory made do with a pile of straw in the stables.

Christy missed Niall desperately. Though she had bound her breasts tightly to stop the flow of milk, they still ached. She couldn’t ever recall being so uncomfortable. The journey to the Highlands was made even more miserable by the enforced solitude she had to endure. The empty hours gave her ample time to dwell on those last moments she’d spent in Sinjun’s arms.

If only she could have made him understand that she took her responsibility to her clansmen as seriously as she took her responsibility to Niall. Leaving Niall behind had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Had Sinjun not been so adamantly opposed she wouldn’t have had to leave her bairn behind. Her greatest fear now was that Sinjun would not let her become a part of Niall’s life when she returned. After peace was restored in the Highlands, Christy planned to explain everything to Sinjun and hoped he would understand and forgive her.

A wave of relief washed over Christy when they crossed the border into Scotland. The rainy weather finally gave way to blue skies and sunshine, and Christy grew excited when she saw heather blooming on the hillsides. She heartily disliked London, with its sooty buildings, crowds, and stench of raw sewage. One day, she vowed, she would bring Niall home and raise him in the invigorating, clear air of the Scottish Highlands.

They spotted the pall of smoke hanging over Glenmoor village before they reached it. Christy’s heart plummeted when she realized what it meant. Rory stopped the coach at the top of a hill while Christy hung out the window, staring with dismay at the smoke curling upward from burning cottages.

“We must get down there,” Christy cried. “They may need help.”

Shouts of welcome heralded their arrival as the coach rolled into the village.

“‘Tis The Macdonald!”

“The laird has returned!”

“Praise God!”

The first thing Christy noticed as she stepped down from the coach was that every able-bodied man carried a weapon—either claymore, pistol, dirk or stout stick. She gazed beyond them and saw the frightened faces of women and children peeping out from the doorways of those cottages not consumed by fire. When they saw Christy, they rushed out to greet her.

“What happened here?” Christy asked.

Big Murdoch Macdonald stepped forward. “The Camerons and Mackenzies,” he spat. “They came at us at dusk. We turned them back, but they still managed to burn down two more cottages.”

“Any dead?”

“Nay. Three wounded, not seriously, and two children trampled in the melee. They’ll recover.”

“And the Ranalds?”

“They’re having the same problems we are. The Ranald chieftain said half their herd have turned up on Cameron land.”

“We’ll rebuild,” Christy said.

“We’re glad ye’ve returned, Christy,” Murdoch said. “Maybe ye can talk some sense into the Camerons. Clan wars have always divided the Highlands, but rarely among allies. I canna understand it.”

Christy understood. Only too well. ‘Twas Calum’s way of repaying her for fleeing. He knew she’d return once she learned what was happening to her kinsmen—had counted on it, in fact. But he couldn’t make demands on her this time. She was a married woman, Sinjun hadn’t gotten the annulment, and her son was safe with his father. She’d make Calum understand there was nothing to gain and everything to lose from this senseless feud. Once he understood the dangers involved should war break out in the Highlands, things would settle down and she could return to London and make things right with Sinjun.

“If anyone needs lodging they’re welcome to stay at Glenmoor,” Christy offered.

“Thank ye, Christy. Those women and children without homes will be glad for yer offer, but the men will remain in the village to prevent further pillaging.”

Christy left a short time later, determined to put a stop to the feud before it involved every clan in the Highlands and erupted into a war requiring the intervention of English soldiers.

Margot flew out the door to greet Christy before the coach rolled to a stop at the front entrance of Glenmoor.

“Where is yer wee laddie?” Margot asked as she embraced Christy warmly.

“I had to leave him behind. Sinjun wouldn’t allow me to bring him.”

“Ah, lass, ‘tis sorry I am. Dinna worry, he’s in good hands with his sire. I’m glad Rory found ye. Yer letter reached us a few days before he left for London. We were surprised to learn ye were living with his lordship. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go greet your husband. Rory has missed you and his wee laddie something fierce.”

“No more than I’ve missed Rory,” Margot said. “I’d best greet him before he feels neglected. We’ll talk later, Christy, after ye’ve rested.”

“Aye, I’ve yet to meet your bairn,” Christy said.

Walking into the house was like greeting an old friend, Christy thought as she entered the main hall. Glenmoor may not have been what it was in its glory days, but it was still home. Mary came from the kitchen and threw her arms around Christy, bemoaning the troubles that had plagued them since Christy had left.