No Other Woman (No Other Series) (2 page)

"David, I need to speak with you."

"What interesting apparel you have chosen for a conversation!" he told her, rising upon his elbows to better survey her. Her gown might have been chosen for a trousseau, for a wedding night, in fact. The fabric seemed to shimmer. Even the soft firelight passed cleanly through it. "And what an intriguing time and place you have chosen for a talk."

"I do not choose to talk here!" she informed him. "It is just so difficult to reach you at times. Come with me now to the stables. You must do as I ask."

He arched a brow. "Must I? Come to my office tomorrow, Shawna MacGinnis."

He started to roll away from her, angry, realizing that he really shouldn't be terribly surprised to see her here tonight. He had received documented proof that day of criminal activity by her kin. He had threatened earlier in the day to bring charges against her foolhardy young cousin, Alistair, for siphoning Douglas funds into his own bank account. He'd no intention of doing it—a sound discussion with young Alistair would surely suffice. But still, Alistair's crimes might well bring about a heavy sentence before the law, and for once, her ladyship was truly in a position where she needed Douglas mercy.

He should have been forewarned then.

Right then and there.

But he had no reason to suspect any truly evil intention by the lady.

She was here, swallowing her pride, because she was "The MacGinnis of Craig Rock." Titular head of her family. Alistair would never have met him face-to-face to argue or to fight. He knew he would have lost. Exposure to the lawless American West had taught David Douglas what fencing lessons given by the finest French swordsmen might have overlooked, and he was an expert in any battle of weapons or fists. At times Alistair was reckless, but he was no fool.

Had he put Shawna up to this?

And just what exactly did the lady intend?

Her fingers touched David's naked shoulder. "David, you arrogant aristocrat! I must talk with you; I am begging you, please!"

He paused, rolling back to her, not so much struck with sympathy for her plight as he was intrigued with just how much she was willing to risk in the name of family honor.

"Please!" she whispered again.

He sighed. "Get out, girl. I'll be along."

"You'll tell no one?"

"I know of no other fool awake at this hour."

She spun around, her grace, youth, and beauty highlighted by the crimson firelight. She hurried silently back to the window. He watched her, wondering how many times through the years his ancestors had welcomed their lovers so, for to those who knew the way, an enclosure along the balcony wall led to a secret stairway that ran below the rock and the wall to the forest that lay southward of the castle. It was said the Bonnie Prince Charlie once escaped his would-be captors by way of Castle Rock. Shawna knew of it, he realized, because he had once teasingly invited her to his chambers by way of it.

Well, she had come now.

He rose and found his velvet robe hanging on the hook by the door and wrapped himself in it and nothing more. If she'd come half-naked to his room, he wasn't going to dress formally for an assignation out in the stables. Did she mean to beg and plead and seduce his mercy? She'd have done better, he determined somewhat angrily, to come to him honestly and ask that he drop the charges against her cousin. But then, she was convinced that she was so powerful—let her have her way. When she was done, he'd tell her that he'd never intended to bring the law against young Alistair.

The stables to which she had referred lay beyond the castle walls. The structure was large and long with a roof made of thatch. At one end was a room where the stable master had slept in ancient times. A wooden bunk remained at the right rear corner of the room, hay was stored to the left, and a desk with ledgers took up most of the space.

The light of a small lantern created a ghostly dance against the walls, ceiling, and floor as he entered, and even against the silky fabric of her all-but-sheer nightdress. She awaited him by the desk. He could see she'd planned the tryst. A silver tray with two goblets of wine sat by her side. She offered him one. He took it, then waited, not offering her a word of encouragement.

"It's very good wine," she said. He thought she seemed angry, yet also determined not to betray her true feelings—or her cause.

He nodded. "Get to it, girl. What is it you want? Why have you awakened me in the middle of the night?"

"You know why. You mustn't prosecute Alistair."

'"Why not? He's a thieving young rascal who needs a good lesson."

She swallowed a large mouthful of wine. He was touched by the inner struggle she seemed to be experiencing. If he weren't so irritated with this pretense of hers, he'd be tempted to take her tenderly in his arms and whisper assurances to her.

Because she was an extremely beautiful woman. Shawna was pure fire, inside and outside, a fascinating tempest. As reckless as young Alistair, but fiercely proud of being a MacGinnis, loyal to her family—softening only in her love of children and helpless little animals. It was dangerous to give to Shawna; she saw too clearly her own power in all that she might hold.

She set her wineglass down upon the desk and pressed his glass to his lips, urging him to drink. He swallowed several sips of the wine. It was a fruity, rich wine, odd-tasting and not much to his liking, and not from his own cellars, he was certain. Had they scoured the wine cellars of Castle MacGinnis, looking for this particular, quite potent burgundy?

If she was trying to get him drunk on wine, she had quite a task ahead of her. How intriguing. Men were supposed to seduce sweet young damsels by plying them with an intoxicating beverage. Maybe she was trying to dull her own senses. She herself was drinking the wine as if it were water. Her eyes were on his. They fell. She reached for his glass, and he allowed her to set it beside her own. She brought her hands to his face, cupping it. Then her palms fell to the V of his robe, her fingers teasing his flesh before her hands pressed flat against it.

He'd known for a long time that she was beautiful. And desirable.

He'd never imagined what such an intimate touch could do to him. Heat raked him. Muscles spasmed within him. By sheer will alone he kept her from realizing the extent of the tremors she had sent racing through him. Yet, if she stood any closer...

"You mustn't prosecute Alistair."

"Why mustn't I prosecute him?"

"Because he is young and foolish," she whispered.

"That's all?" he said harshly. "I mustn't prosecute him? What have I to gain for my magnanimity?"

"I've asked you here so that we can discuss it," she reminded him.

A nasty possibility having dawned on him, he reached behind her, switching wineglasses as he handed one to her and kept one himself.

"I see. We're making a trade. I give you something, you give me something. A bargain—sealed in wine."

"Must you be so hateful?"

"Must you be so ridiculously hypocritical? You came half-naked to my room. You want to bargain. Bargain," he told her, taking a sip of wine.

"Bastard!" she hissed beneath her breath, then realized he heard her. He watched as she quickly lifted her wineglass to her lips, taking a sip.

She was definitely nervous. Her sip became a long swallow. He took her glass and set it down once again with his. If she'd been attempting to drug him, she'd go out before he did, for certain. It was time to get down to basics.

"Bargain, Lady MacGinnis. Just what is it you've got to offer?"

"I'll marry you," she told him quickly.

He laughed out loud. He could see that he'd offended her. Apparently, her pride overruled her intent, and she raised a hand to strike him. He caught her wrist before the blow could fall, but her words spilled from her furiously.

"David Douglas, how dare you—"

"Shawna MacGinnis, my homes and lands are far richer than yours. I've been offered the daughters of counts, earls, dukes, immensely rich merchants, and even the lovely offspring of an Indian chief or two. I will marry for no bargain."

No matter how tempting you may be, my beauty,
he thought, turning from her to start from the stables.

But her anger was not so great that she did not attempt to waylay him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. He stood still, his back still turned to her. "Nay, you cannot leave, David!" she cried softly.

A smile she couldn't see curved his lips, but he spoke harshly. "You've something else to offer?" he demanded, annoyed when he heard his words somewhat slurred. He blinked as it seemed the earth wavered for a moment as well. But then she spoke again, distracting him.

"I—" she began, and he could hear her biting down on her teeth as she fought now to control both her pride and her temper. "I—damn you, I offer whatever it is you might want. It doesn't have to be marriage. I—I can—surely, you must feel something for me?"

Indeed, he did. And in turning back to her, he found that she was so close she was almost standing on top of him. There was a clean, floral, haunting scent to her hair; the scent of lilac to her flesh. Half in anger, half in longing, he set his arms about her, pulling her close. Letting her know how dangerously she played. Letting her feel the extent of his arousal. Letting her feel...

Oh, God, what was he doing to himself!

Harsh, bitter words formed on his lips. He meant to tell her to guard her own honor more tightly, her cousin was a fool, but a fool he'd not punish before the law.

Yet something goaded him, and he could not give the truth to her so easily. "This does grow more and more intriguing. However, I wouldn't want to accept anything blindly. Is it your intent, then," he demanded angrily, "to show me something of what I am being offered?"

"Aye, something!"

"What?" he demanded.

"Something—of what you desire to see!" she exploded, aggravated. She tried to pull free, taut with fury. He shook her once, staring at her hard.

"Let's be more specific. What?" he repeated icily.

"Something—of me!" she cried furiously.

"Know what you're doing, girl!"

"I—" she began, but broke off. He should have let her go. Then. Walked away. Left the stables. Dealt with her and her kin come morning.

"Leave me be, Shawna," he warned her sharply. "Don't seek to bargain when you've not—"

"Wait! I do intend to—to give you everything I've offered," she insisted, yet she gasped again as he jerked her closer, hard against his body.

Her eyes were on his, her lips were parted in surprise at the feel of him, and he found her so tempting that he crushed his mouth down upon hers, his tongue parting her lips. God, but she was lush, breasts so full, firm against his chest, legs lithe as they pressed against his. He groaned, just slightly lifting his lips from hers, aware of a dizziness pervading his body, yet making every sensation all the more acute.

He felt... too much.

Yet not enough. Something was wrong. It didn't matter.

His hunger was too great. The sensations were too strong. His sex throbbed against the juncture of her thighs. He looked down at her face to find it pale, her eyes closed. Her lips remained just slightly parted, inviting his in return. He threaded his fingers into the lustrous black mane of her hair. Found her mouth again.

He picked her up while he still had strength to do so. He stumbled to the wooden bunk against the wall, falling onto it with her. His head spun, but his body hungered. The smell of fresh hay seemed to fill the room, then the sweet scent of lilac soap and a woman's flesh.

"Wait... !" she gasped.

Wait?
When his heartbeat thundered throughout the length and breadth of his body, when he ached with a longing that seemed to tear into his flesh and his soul? There could be no waiting. It seemed incredible now that he had ever intended merely to hear her out—and leave.

"David?"

He was aware that she whispered his name; that she suddenly sounded confused and uncertain. And in some dim recess of his mind, he remembered that he had switched the glasses, that they had both drunk from a glass filled with wine intended only for him.

Filled with...

So sweet and potent a vintage that it did not matter.
Nothing
mattered.

No matter what either of them had actually intended.

"Perhaps the bargain is met," he told her.

Nay, hold back!
some sense within him warned.

But he could not.

The momentum of the sensations sweeping into him was overwhelming. The scent and feel and taste of her filled him.

The world became a blur.

Of hunger.

Of feelings so acute.

Of desire so fierce that it had become like a flame, destroying his ability to think.

A sound, he heard a sound, a whisper on the air behind him and then...

Pain!

Shocking pain, striking him so suddenly. Sharp, horrible, excruciating, at the back of his head. Sensation that had been unbearably sweet was now unbearably vicious. Staggering.

Paralyzing.

He thought he saw her. Her eyes, sky blue above his. Her face. Angelic in its beauty.

Then the bitter realization hit him.
The MacGinnises never would have confronted him face-to-face. They knew his temper, his sense of honor—and his strength.

Just as they had known his weakness. Shawna.

Oh, God, never again.

No, never, for seduction had not been their true intent, he saw with startling clarity. Their true intent had been murder.

Suddenly he realized that the burning pain in his skull had been caused by something other than the blow to his head.

He was surrounded by heat.

And fire.

Oh, God, yes. Fire! Flames, shooting all around him. And he couldn't move, couldn't twist or turn, he could only feel the bursting agony within his head. He could see nothing except for the shooting red tongues of flame that rose against the blackness.

No, more.

He could see what a fool he had been. And that he had been betrayed. Oh, God, yes, with what must be his dying breath, he could see so clearly what a fool he had been and that she...