An Improper Wife (27 page)

Tarah Scott

Excerpt

Chapter One

Scottish Highlands, 1338

Lady Riana Ellis dribbled three drops of poison from the wooden phial into the goblet sitting on the nightstand beside the wine she would drink.

Fill the goblet to the brim, and death would be quick.

But the fires of Hell that followed would last forever.

Even hellfire paled in comparison to the nightmare that was Arundel.

If not for her younger sister living as
ward
of the Duke and Duchess of Arundel, Riana would have ingested poison long ago…if not for the fact the duke and duchess now had food tasters, she would have slipped poison into
their
food long ago. Instead, she must now feed the lethal fluid to Sir Neas Dunbar in order to save Siusan from the duke’s cock.

Riana fitted the top back onto the phial. She shivered despite the fire that crackled in the hearth to her left, and rubbed gooseflesh from her naked arms. The duchess’ order to murder the knight came with the explicit instruction,
“Fuck him hard first.”

Anger clenched Riana’s stomach. The duchess thrived on the fact this would be the man's last night amongst the living, and had issued the edict because she wanted to watch. Her morbid fascination would be Riana’s advantage—if she pulled off what was to be the performance of her life.

The very thought of watching a man fuck the woman who was about to murder him would have the duchess panting like a bitch in heat. Already, she would be sitting behind the large painting that hung over the bed…waiting. Riana had purposely kept her naked breasts from the duchess’ view, knowing just the sight of her rounded buttocks in the soft firelight would hold the older woman spellbound in anticipation of that first glimpse of rosy areolae and dark curls.

In the hours the duchess watched Riana from behind the painting, Siusan and their surrogate father Glen would flee Arundel for a village in the south of France. By the time Sir Dunbar sucked Riana’s nipples into painful hardness, the duchess would be unable to tear herself from watching them. When he finally stuffed his fingers between her folds and rammed his cock into her arse, Siusan and Glen would be riding hard. The knight was sure to do all this and more, for the duchess would instruct him as she did every man Riana serviced: “
Ride her hard. She is made for it.”

Siusan and Glen’s final security would be if the duchess had brought one of her favourites from among the servants to suck her cunt while she watched. Once she had satiated her perverted desires, and Riana fed the knight the poisoned wine, the duchess would retire to her chambers and await news that Sir Dunbar had been found dead in his bed.

The Sheriff would be called from his chambers, where the duchess had installed him the night before, and he would conclude the knight had died of a heart attack while rutting between Riana’s legs—even if the duchess had to throw coin his way to ensure the verdict.

If Riana administered the poison first, Sir Dunbar’s heart would slow while he pumped into her, until, at last, the veneer of death would be complete. That would be a sight that could keep the duchess distracted indefinitely. But Riana had been unable to overcome her revulsion at thought of the knight’s cock going limp inside her as his dead weight pinned her to the mattress.

Sir Dunbar had left a trail of English blood across the Scottish Highlands. The duchess was a fool to think anyone would believe the heart that beat within his massive chest could give way due to even the most rigorous thrusts of his cock into a woman’s cunt. Yet, if the duchess had her way, he would fuck Riana, she would hang for his murder, and Siusan would take her place as Arundel’s whore.

A tremor rippled through Riana. She had served as a whore too long to feel guilt over spreading her legs. But murder? And to what end? The fact she had killed a man at the duchess’ command wouldn’t obligate the older woman to safeguard Siusan from the duke.

Siusan had grown into a young woman whose pale beauty surpassed Riana’s darker hair and complexion. The duke’s increasing demands to have Siusan’s maidenhead tightened the duchess’ stranglehold over Riana. But Riana had her own leverage. The moment the duchess could no longer protect Siusan, Riana would forego the poison and drive a dagger into her heart. Then hang for the crime without remorse. Riana suppressed a bitter laugh. Apparently murder was as easy to grow accustomed to as was fornication.

But until Siusan was safely away, Riana couldn’t forget that the duchess’ cruelty was matched only by the duke’s depravity. She choked back a recollection of the day he had stripped away her memory of how sweet love could be and replaced it with understanding of how a man’s cock could foul a woman’s every orifice. Riana bit back tears. Curse the war that had taken her father and husband. Even God had deserted them. But she wouldn’t wait for God or anyone else to save them. Tonight, she would end this madness. Riana closed her eyes and released a slow breath. Fail, and the duke wasn’t the only threat they faced.

The duke and duchess secretly supported Edward Balliol, Scotland’s puppet king of Edward III, King of England and self-appointed
Lord Parliament of Scotland.
Most of Scotland had been retaken by Sir Andrew Murray, leader of Robert the Bruce’s faction. But King Edward III intended to wrest Scotland from him at all costs.

Two months ago, one of the
Disinherited
—the Anglo Saxon Scots led by Balliol—had secretly visited Arundel, and Riana learnt the duke and duchess had plotted with him to finance Balliol. She’d passed the information to Sir Fostar, who had fought alongside her father and husband.

Sir Fostar warned Riana that Scotland would bring a
sentence of forfeiture
against the duke, and seize his wealth and land. If Riana and Siusan weren’t far away, they would become casualties in the political aftermath. They couldn’t return to their mother—her new husband would shun women branded as followers of the English king. Riana envisioned her and Siusan wandering the streets and, eventually, forced into a brothel.

She glanced from the goblet laced with poison to the door. Her pulse raced. Tears rushed to the surface and burned her eyes before she could halt them. Once the knight appeared, there would be no turning back. Her heart twisted. She was as big a fool as the duchess. There had never been any turning back.

Chapter Two

Riana glanced at the low flames in the hearth. The hour had grown late. The knight should have arrived by now. Trepidation surfaced. If the duchess grew bored and went in search of him, and by some slim chance looked in on Siusan, their lives would be over. Her stomach roiled. Only one alternative remained until he arrived…if he arrived.

She faced the bed.

Heavy curtains hung between all bed posts save the one against the wall where the picture hung, and the curtain facing the fire was open so that firelight would illuminate the writhing bodies on the mattress.

She took two steps and leant forward, palms flat on the mattress, purposely allowing her breasts to sway slightly. The duchess’ gaze would be riveted to the full globes. Riana forced back revulsion and slowly crawled to the head of the bed. She settled on her back, legs spread on the white sheets. With one hand, she cupped a breast, while flattening the other hand on her belly. Riana jammed shut her eyes. If her eyes strayed to the picture and met the duchess’s gaze she would vomit.

Siusan.
Remember her and their dear Glen, who risked his life to save them both. They were the reason she was here. She inched her hand downwards on her stomach. They must reach safety before the duchess’ attention waned. Which meant this time, Riana couldn’t distance her mind as she usually did when men rutted between her legs. This time, she had to enjoy being watched. Her fingers brushed the curls of her mound. Tears threatened. An unexpected vision rose of the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man who had gently taken her maidenhead. Pain slashed through her at memory of her husband, but she allowed her mind to sink into that kinder time, the day after Stuart had asked for her hand in marriage and they had met in the glen south of Fyvie Castle.

They were to be married. She hugged him close, aware of the erection that pressed eagerly against her belly. His body tensed against his self-imposed restraint. Riana laughed. She wanted him, intended to have him long before the wedding, still six months away.

Guilt stabbed through the memory with startling intensity. Stuart hadn’t been able to resist, just as the men the duchess sent never resisted. But Riana had loved Stuart…he had loved her. They were
supposed
to want one another. And they had.

Her body exploded when he touched her. Riana’s nipples puckered. A thumb brushed one marbled peak. She dragged in a breath. Desire streaked through her as his callused hand slipped into her heated folds. Riana moaned and arched into his warm palm. Gentle massages to her sex tightened her core with heart-stopping anticipation. She pulsed against the rhythm. Pressure built. His gentle touch drove her mad. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she wanted his fingers stretching her, his cock stroking the most intimate part of her, yet untouched by a man. She wanted hard thrusts that would push her over an edge she’d only dreamt of.

Voices intruded on the intimate moment. Riana thrashed against the need for release. The murmur grew louder. She reached for Stuart, but her fingers closed around thin air. Her eyes shot open.

The canopy over the bed in Arundel snapped into focus and grief slashed like a knife. She choked back a sob. Stuart was gone. The sound of voices in the hallway made her jerk her head in the direction of the door.

Sir Dunbar.

Riana yanked her finger from within her drenched channel and scrambled beneath the sheets. The door creaked open as the sheet settled around her. The soft click of the door being shut was followed by the clink of metal that told her the knight was removing his sword, then chain mail.

Heart racing, Riana willed her trembling body to still. She lay against the snow white pillow, dark hair fanned out around her face, sheet tucked around her full breasts, arms at her sides. She must appear the siren when he finally lifted the curtain and found her in his bed. No man had ever turned from her. Fear rushed to the surface. What if tonight was different? It couldn’t be. All she needed was these last few hours.

After Riana gave the knight the wine, she would flee Arundel. The duchess would stay to watch until certain the poison had drained his life before finally retiring for the evening. By morning, the keep would be abuzz as she played the part of the shocked patroness when the sheriff accused her ward of murdering Sir Dunbar.

When the sheriff finally knocked on Riana’s door she would be miles away, riding in the opposite direction to the one Siusan and Glen travelled. Even if they captured Riana, she would return to face charges of murder only to find the victim alive and well, with no ill after effects of the cantarella she’d used in place of the arsenic the duchess had given her.

Air wafted across Riana’s arms. Gooseflesh zipped up her arms. The knight must have lifted the curtain on the left side of the bed. A moment of silence passed before the bed shifted as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He tugged the covers upwards and she tried to quiet the rampant beat of her heart when the cool linen settled back into place. Warmth radiated from him and her stomach clenched in anticipation of the weight of his large body pressing down on her. Instead, a feather-light caress wound circles down her left arm.

She shivered. He shifted and warm breath bathed her ear, then teeth gently bit down on her ear lobe. Moist lips trailed from cheek to mouth. He shifted and something brushed across her breasts. She jumped before realising he had braced an arm on the other side of her. He paused and lifted his mouth from hers. When she didn't move, he seemed satisfied and again covered her mouth with his. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened for him.

He swept his tongue inside and Riana was surprised at the sweet taste of his breath. Too many of the men the duchess sent to her tasted of the foul world from which they came. But this man tasted of brandy and cinnamon. He must have partaken of Cook’s famous cinnamon buns. His tongue thrust in quick bursts and she wondered what that tongue would feel like on the sensitive nub between her legs. Riana jerked from the thought. How could she feel desire for a man such as Sir Dunbar…and only minutes after picturing Stuart’s face?

The knight broke the kiss and his mouth began a slow, moist slide down her jaw, neck, to the swell of her breast. When he closed his mouth around a nipple through the thin linen of the sheet, pleasure streaked through her. She gasped.

He lifted up. “I would prefer to see your beautiful eyes.”

A masculine voice, deep, rich—and not Sir Dunbar’s—caused her eyes to snap open. She gaped at the face before her. Instead of the brown eyes she had expected, emerald green eyes stared down at her.

Sir Bryant Cullen.

Her heart leapt into a furious rhythm. What was he doing here? Had the duchess changed her mind? Was it Sir Bryant she now wished murdered? No, that didn’t make sense. Yet he was here. Her mind whirled with questions. What was she supposed to do with the man? She’d seen him in the great hall, his massive body dwarfing even Sir Dunbar’s. He stood over two metres tall, and outweighed the older knight by at least three stone. Her pulse skittered at the memory of when he turned in her direction and their eyes met. She was accustomed to lust, but Sir Bryant’s expression had been one of curiosity—male curiosity, to be sure, but not the lewd lust she usually saw. That same look glinted in his eyes now.

His brows rose. “First you keep your eyes firmly shut, then you stare. Which is it to be, Lady?”

She startled at the word
Lady
spoken as if he truly meant the respect, as if she wasn't lying in his bed naked, a stranger to him.