Highland Pull (Highland Destiny 2) (14 page)

Gabhran hungered to have Miranda, and not in the business-like way he covered her the past sen’night, but slow, deliberate, and in every way imaginable. The siren song of her pull on him seemed especially strong tonight. He felt her as soon as he had entered his chambers. He thought mayhap ‘twould be a good thing to spend more time with her this night, given his plans for the day beyond the morrow.

He and Ian would leave for the south, to aid Ian’s family in the lowlands. They were expecting the neighboring clan to take some action any day, now that his family had openly declared loyalty to Robert and Scotland. ‘
Twould be good for him to go fight an honest fight, banish a bit of this darkness from his soul, to calm it for a while.

He decanted a glass of brandy and sat by his cold hearth, thinking. He had sensed no duplicity in the woman. His wife, he amended. Nay, she had been everything her father had promised: beautiful, intelligent, virgin. Yet the darkness within him, a force that had guided him through many a battle, had flared in her presence. It drove him to avoid her, convinced him that he was in danger from her. Whispered she was naught but a witch. 

He didna have time to find another woman. He needed heirs now. Truth be told, he didna want another woman; he wanted this woman, his woman.
More proof she has cast an enchantment on you
, the darkness gloated.

Nay, more proof she is my true mate.
His head snapped up at that thought, it was a voice within him he’d thought long dead. His Druid voice. Where had it come from? He tentatively poked around in his head, trying to sort the conflicting messages as he drank his brandy.

He shivered, though he knew not whether from the internal argument or from the lack of fire in his hearth. Stepping to the hallway door, he gave his guards orders to reposition themselves at the head of the grand stairway and on the servant’s stairs, blocking access to the Laird’s wing of the second floor. He removed his leather straps, weapons, shirt, and boots, leaving himself clad only in his chieftain’s plaid. He poured himself another glass of brandy,
then quietly entered Miranda’s room.

Her room was much warmer than his, retaining the heat from the day through the southern exposure of the solar.
Before he’d wed, this had been his sitting chamber, and mayhap it could be again if he chose to have her sleep in his bed. A fire burned cozily in the hearth, and her bath was still behind the screen. He dipped his fingers in the water and found it still warm enough, and thought to rinse himself before he climbed into bed with her. Truth be faced, he still hadna decided how he would take her this night, impersonal or with the passion that raged within him. 

****

Randi lay on her side and watched Gabhran through eyes that were narrow strips, not yet willing to let him know she was awake. She had to stifle a gasp when he dropped his kilt to the floor. Gabhran naked was a magnificent sight to behold. Gabhran naked and fully aroused was beyond words. He climbed quietly into the water, and stretched out with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Randi began to fantasize about how good it could be between them. When he’d stood nude in front of her, she had thought of their first time together in New Orleans, when he had first slipped the head of his cock inside her. She’d thought he might rip her in two, but he’d stopped, and gentled her. He had been so careful, not hurting her more than necessary, gliding in on her wetness, slipping nearly all the way out, then pushing a little deeper, until he’d disposed of her virginity and captured her heart. So very different from the Gabhran she’d encountered here.

As she surreptitiously watched him, his hand began to move on his shaft, slowly, the water forming small waves from the languid motion. Randi subconsciously licked her lips, and muscles deep within her achingly clenched, remembering the feel of him inside. She had never watched a man masturbate before, and wondered if he was thinking of her.

She risked a quick glance at his face, stunned to find he was staring directly at her. He’d known she was watching, and when their gazes locked it was as though two heat seeking missiles collided in mid-air.
Oh no, not yet.
She needed to maintain her control tonight, no matter what it cost her, and she strove to take control of the situation.

“I did not eat or drink from my dinner tray tonight, husband.”

His cock jumped in his hand when she spoke, and she felt the black within him rise.

“Why would that be, wife, was naught to your liking?” His voice was tight with an anger neither of them understood.

“Mayhap, I was too tired to eat just then,” she countered, imitating his pattern of speech, feeling her own temper rise at his tone.

“
Och, ‘tis a shame, and are you too tired now, wife?” 

“Nay, husband.” She started to leave the bed, to come to him, tamping her irritation.

“Stay,” he shouted.

She instantly froze. The anger in the room was palpable, their tumultuous feelings spilling over into little skirmishes. She knew his darkness was warning him against her, and she needed to balance the seduction with a tinge of submission, to get him to lower his guard. She needed to do whatever it took in order to tempt him beyond the possessive edge of his darkness.

An idea occurred to her, brought on by watching him in the tub. She fell back onto the pillows, and looked at him through half-closed lashes. “Whatever you desire, I will wait here for you to join me, Gabhran.” She bent one knee and let the other fall to the bed, providing him a good view of her womanhood. She was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. His hand moved faster on his shaft, his eyes locked on the view between her spread legs. 

Recognizing this as a pivotal moment, Randi pushed away all of her inhibitions, and overcame her tendency for bashfulness. This was not the time for coy, she needed to bring him as close to her as possible, to get him inside her, to accept her gift. She swallowed hard and did something she’d only done in the privacy of her own bed, something she would never have admitted to doing, even under threat of torture.

She licked her fingers, and placed them between her thighs. His eyes narrowed with desire as she spread her lower lips, and began to stroke herself, sure she would die from humiliation. She hoped he would be enticed to take over for her sooner rather than later.

She was surprised to find how wet, and hot, and slippery she was. Despite her mental
discomfort, it was impossible to deny the physical pleasure her fingers were providing. It had been a week since he had bothered to bring her to climax, and her frustration was high. She was becoming more than a little aroused, especially as she watched him watching her.

Despite her initial embarrassment, she felt a flutter deep in her belly, she wanted more,
she needed her own release. She began to focus on what felt good rather than focusing on what pleased him. She slipped a finger inside, and whimpered at how good it felt. She added a second finger and began to pump slowly, moaning at the feeling of fullness. Her other hand caressed her breasts and pinched her nipples, sending waves of pleasure deep within. She could smell her own desire and wondered if he knew just how aroused she was. She lost track of why she had started this, she was lost in the eroticism of him watching her, she was lost in her pleasure.

He climbed from the tub and joined her on the bed, face between her legs. He didn’t stop her, just watched, face taut with repressed desire. She felt the far off beginnings of an orgasm, hovering just outside her reach. She moaned loudly, pushed her head back into her pillow, and arched her back. Her breath was ragged, and she removed her fingers to rub them on her clitoris. Her ears were roaring; she could hardly breathe. 

Her fingers were wet and slippery against her hard nub, and she whispered his name as she began to stroke herself in a circular motion. Gabhran thrust two fingers deep inside her and began to pump, following the rhythm of her finger on her clit.

Together they went faster, murmuring half words, breathing loudly, both of them bringing her closer with every stroke. With a strangled cry, Miranda fell over the edge, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. Wave after wave crashed through her, the feelings were intensified knowing he was feeling her orgasm, feeling her internal muscles clamping down on his fingers. When she stilled her hand, Gabhran stopped pumping, but did not remove his fingers, as she continued to shiver involuntarily around them.  

He moved on the bed until their faces were level, and commanded she look at him. Miranda raised her gaze to his, before lowering it quickly. He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze, before he covered her mouth with his, in a searing kiss. He buried his fingers in her hair, and kissed her so deeply, it was as though he was making love to her mouth. He stole her breath and gave it back, his lips demanding, tongue hungry for a taste of her. When he broke the kiss, her lips were swollen, bruised.

“What am I to make of you, wife? I have seen your maiden blood and I have just witnessed a more wanton display than e’er I have heard of outside a brothel. Yet you cover your face and blush. You make me mad with desire. Are you trying to
bespell me? Are you a witch?” he asked, his voice a hoarse, tense whisper.

Although she wanted them to talk eventually, she needed to re-establish the intimacy they’d achieved when they’d made love, before they spoke of important things. It was even more critical that she get the
gris gris around his neck. Randi tried to gather what little remained of her wits, the question about her being a witch had come too soon.

She simply didn’t know the answer to his question. She’d had all day to think about it. Was she a witch? Randi had been raised believing in powers she couldn’t see. Her cousin had started training in the arts of voodoo when she was a child, but Randi had been raised differently than the rest of the children in the large, extended family. Her mother, Abigail, wouldn’t allow talk
of magick or voodoo in the house, even though the story was she’d once been as powerful as cousin Marie was now.

When Abigail was thirty, and a powerful woman in the world of New Orleans magick, she’d met a man vacationing in the French Quarter. After a whirlwind three-day romance, he begged her to return with him to his home, promising everything would work out between them, that love was enough.

Abigail turned her back on her family and magick, she gave up everything to follow him to New York. Three years later she’d returned to New Orleans pregnant and alone, and refused to talk about what had happened to her or where she’d been. After Randi was born, Abigail raised her alone, with the help of their extended family, and the only time there was a problem was when conversations turned to magick. Abigail would stare down the offending relative and hurry Randi away.

Ten years later, when a man showed up at their front door, her mother angrily ordered Randi to go to one of the cousin’s houses, and pulled him inside. Randi was scared at first, but then realized he wasn’t there to hurt anyone. It was the first time she’d been able to sense someone’s intentions. Pressing her ear to the door, she had listened to the argument rage.

It had turned out the man was her father, and her mother had left him without telling him she was pregnant because when she’d tried to tell him the truth about her magick, he’d thought she was mentally ill. Now he wanted to know his daughter, to take care of her financially, to see her occasionally. Thus began the best and the worst summer of young Randi's life.

It was the best summer, because she got to visit her father in New York, where he took her to ballgames, museums, and plays. He gave her a nickname and made her feel special. It was the worst summer because when she returned home, her mother was gone again, and no one knew where to find her. A call to her father had revealed that although he had enjoyed the three weeks he’d spent with Randi, he was not prepared to raise a child. So Randi had been raised by a variety of relatives, in her large and loving family, not an uncommon arrangement deep in the heart of Louisiana.

Now Gabhran wanted to know if she was a witch and the answer was maybe. Or something like it. Her family had respected Abigail’s wishes, and Randi had never been trained in any of the magick her family practiced, but neither had she been shielded from it. She knew many of the voodoo practitioners and witches around New Orleans, and she knew they used flames to focus their power and call their spirits. She’d learned a lot staring into the flames tonight. 

Her attempts to reach an inner magick had been marginally successful. She’d felt friendly spirits surround her this evening, and although she might not yet know what to do about it, it was comforting to know that she was not alone.

She decided to try to distract him from his line of questioning, by asking a question of her own, while she pulled her shaky defenses back together.

“Why did you drug me, husband?” Then before she even knew it was coming, her resentment at the way he had treated her this past week exploded. Tears filled her eyes. “Was loving me so distasteful that you couldn’t stomach it? You filled me with your seed and satisfied your own needs, yet had no kind words or touches for me. You have left me locked in this room for a week, never to see the light of day, a bird in your cage, to perform at your whim.”

She pushed angrily away from him, turned her back, and fought the tears that threatened to drown her rage and turn it into despair. Without warning, she felt his blackness swell, it slammed into her with a physical force, and she finally knew it for what it truly was.