The Devil of Jedburgh (23 page)

Still, his shaft was lengthening, swelling, and she realised men could be aroused even when they were spitting mad with the woman beneath them. His finger went between her nether lips and flickered the pearl bud there, and she felt the wet warmth pooling inside her.
So can women!

Breghan hit out, pummelling his chest with fury at how he took advantage with pure strength, beating out the hurt she’d buried within these past few weeks. She wouldn’t submit to the flames licking low in her abdomen. She bucked up from the bed, again and again, not in the throng of passion but to tip him off her.

“Bree, don’t fight me.” Arran’s hand came out from her skirts and settled on her midriff.

“If you do this,” she hissed, still beating her fists into his chest, “I’ll never come to you willingly again.”

His brows arrowed so sharply, they met in the middle. He looked at her in silence, so long, with such intensity, she stopped struggling. His jaw strained, making the concave shadows deeper and darker.

Everything about him was tense and primed.

“I don’t understand,” he said at last. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

She’d started off only wanting to shield herself from the immediate hurt of his rejection after their love play. Now she wondered if she could have more.

When their bodies were joined, she felt more than the consuming pleasure-pain, more than that ultimate pleasure of sweet release—she felt filled and whole, content and cherished, incredulous and awed. She gave her whole being up to him, opening her heart and soul to the power of their union.

But Arran never did.

He always held back, censoring his passion and measuring each stroke until that moment when he withdrew.

If she forced him to abandon control…if he stopped binding his passion to the boundary of his control, perhaps he would start to feel even a sliver of the emotions that burst inside her when they made love.

Breghan chose her words carefully. “I want everything or nothing, Arran. When I reach my peak, I shudder and pulse around you. We’ve made love dozens of times over the last few weeks, and I’ve no idea what it feels like when you reach your peak.”

“Your curiosity will have to wait until your next lover,” he said bluntly.

“That’s coarse and—and unfair.”

“My answer is still no.” He rolled off her and onto his feet to stand beside the bed, looking down on her. “Let me know when you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind,” she vowed.

“Stubborn wench.” Arran grabbed his breeches. “The longer you wait, the longer I’ll make you beg for it.”

“Why, you—you arrogant, ignorant, degenerate—” She cut off when she realised there were no words foul enough to describe him.

She was still brimming with indignation two days later when a rider came from Donague bearing a letter from her mother. Breghan quickly scanned the message, then laughed out loud. This was the perfect weapon to poke Arran’s ire and end his cool indifference toward her.

When they sat down to supper that night, she informed Arran, “My mother wrote to say she and Magellan are coming for a visit.”

“I look forward to having your mother here,” Arran said. “That old witch, however, isn’t welcome at Ferniehirst.”

The knowledge that Magellan’s presence would irritate him had tickled her, but she hadn’t considered he might ban the woman altogether. “Magellan is like family to me.”

He raised a brow at her and finished chewing on his mouthful of mutton. “Ah, so that’s from whom you get your ability to infuriate a man beyond reason.”

“Don’t take it out on Magellan because you’re angry with me,” she told him.

“That old woman’s bag of witch weeds is the cause of all my misery,” Arran pointed out. Without those herbs, Breghan wouldn’t be holding him to ransom with some silly idea that she had power over God and nature.

“You’re the cause of all your misery.” She stabbed a piece of meat with such force, he knew instantly that thick slice of mutton wore his face.

He almost smiled, before he remembered all that passionate anger and fiery beauty was off-limits to him until he was prepared to bed her
properly.

Hah.

Breghan became utterly wanton beneath his touch, her body responding with abandon, the whole of her revelling in the intimacy and sacred joy of physical pleasure. Either she was a damn good actress or… His lips pulled flat and tight.

He resumed eating, a scowl on his brow as he looked around the hall, at the two armchairs now gracing the large hearth on his left, at the large tapestry of Breghan and her mare that brightened up one of the stark grey walls, at the scattered tables covered with prettily embroidered cloths. Humorous banter and high spirits rose up from the rows of trestle tables. Half the men had been given leave to go into Jedburgh later for a night of well-deserved debauchery. The maid he’d employed for Breghan, Greer, sat slightly apart with Duncan, their heads close together as they spoke and laughed over a shared platter.

The building and the people seemed to be rising on a swell of harmony and he felt as if he was sinking to the bottom.

“I’ve already sent a reply home,” Breghan said, her voice tart with the challenge. “Do you intend to deny Magellan entrance to your hallowed halls when she arrives?”

Arran brought his gaze back to her. The smile on her lips was wide and taut. Her eyes were shaded by the crescent of half-lowered lids, but the blue was crystal clear and just as hard.

He knew one kiss from him would melt that smile until her lips folded around his, softly pliant with breathless murmurs. The blue in her eyes would deepen, desire running through them like a warm current rippling through the Atlantic.

No one was that good an actress.

He shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “I seldom kick out guests, even unwelcome ones.”

“Your hospitality is overwhelming.” She fluttered her lashes and raised her goblet of wine to her lips. “I’m sure my family and I are undeserving.” She tilted her head back and sipped deep.

He wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist and brought her hand and the goblet back down to the table. Red wine moistened her lips and he had neither the inclination nor willpower to resist. His mouth came over hers, his lips firm and insistent until she gave in and kissed him back.

He broke the kiss after a short moment, satisfied that everything would be back to normal as soon as he got Breghan to the privacy of his bedchamber.

As he pulled back, he brushed his jaw along the satin smoothness of her cheek and whispered, “You’ll have ample opportunity to tip the balance scale later tonight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes went wide and round. “Didn’t you realise I was being sarcastic?”

Her lips were slightly swollen from his demanding kiss and her voice was breathless. Arran chuckled, reaching for his own goblet. “Do
you
realise I was being dead serious?”

“Finally.” She clapped her hands together and gave him a bright smile. “You’re prepared to make an honest woman of me.”

“That’s a job for a greater man than me,” he said, somewhat amused at her theatrics. “Our first meeting was based on a lie and I’ve seen little to no improvement.”

“You wonder why?” She leaned closer. Her role-playing was over, only genuine anger flashed in her eyes. “You and me, we are the biggest lie of all, perpetuated over and over every time you waste your seed outside my belly.”

“What difference does it make,” he asked in a quiet voice, “whether I withhold my seed or you digest herbs to cleanse your womb?”

“The difference is, I can pretend with my eyes open.”

“You are too intelligent to believe sins only exist if they are seen, Breghan.” He took her hand in his and frowned into her eyes. “What is this really about?”

Her free hand flew to her throat. “I don’t know what you—”

“Yes, you do,” he cut in. “Speak to me, or I swear I’ll carry you up to my chamber right now and take you, kicking and screaming if must be.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Must you always be so vile?”

He pushed to his feet, yanking her up with him.

“Arran, wait,” she said softly. She pressed a palm to his chest and looked up into his eyes.

Arran released her and sat again. He folded his arms, his gaze following her as she came down into her seat as well. “I’m listening.”

She breathed in deeply. “When you don’t complete the act of making love, it leaves me feeling incomplete and wanting more.”

“I don’t believe that.” His arms uncrossed and he slammed a fist on the table. “You are lying.”

“I’ve never been more brutally honest.” She bowed her head. “I’m not sure what else you want me to say.”

“You are hardly experienced in these matters,” he retorted, his blood heating in a rage he didn’t know where to aim.

Was it possible she spoke the truth?

“Perhaps you expect more from a bedding than any reality can provide,” he said in a tight voice. “I am but a man, Breghan, not a fantastical figure from your dreams.”

“You may be right.” She lifted her head, her brows and small smile wrinkled. “Perhaps I do expect more than you can give.”

“Dammit, Breghan, what does that mean?”

She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t feel well. Would you mind if I retire?”

The tremble in her voice drained his anger. When he rose to help her, she shook her head. “You’ve done more than enough for one night, I’ll collect Greer on my way up.”

Arran dropped down again, a flat, heavy feeling in his chest.

You’ve done more than enough for one night.

What the bloody hell was
that
supposed to mean?

Chapter Fifteen

Lillian McAllen arrived with three laden carts and a guard of eight McAllen men. A bitter November chill swept down the dale, keeping the air icy and frost on the ground despite the sun shining through thin streaky clouds. Magellan had travelled in one of the carts on a bed of blankets, but Lillian preferred to wrap herself in a full-length cloak of fur and ride.

“Your father wanted to come himself,” Lillian said, laughing gaily as she was helped down from her gelding and walked straight into Breghan’s arms. “I forbade him. The man would want to be getting home within a day and I have high hopes of being welcome here at least a fortnight.”

“You can stay forever,” Breghan declared. She peeped at Arran assisting Magellan from the cart. “Arran’s not too pleased about Magellan accompanying you.”

“She has that effect on men.”

“He has promised to be on his best behaviour.”

Lillian turned out of her daughter’s arms to greet Arran and Breghan hurried forward to hug Magellan. “I hope the journey wasn’t too tiring?”

“My bones aren’t what they used to be,” Magellan grumbled. She stood back and cast her gaze from one end of Ferniehirst to the other. “So…this is the devil’s lair.”

“Come.” Breghan grabbed her hand and tugged her along. “Gardie put out hot cakes and warmed ale.”

Arran was instructing the McAllen men to stable their horses and then to come inside for food and heat. To Lillian, he said, “Go with Breghan, I’ll see to your trunks.”

“Please tell me you’ll stay longer than two weeks,” Breghan begged as they made their way up the main steps.

“Alas, the snow’s already falling further north, darling, it won’t be much longer before the roads become treacherous.” Lillian brushed her fingers through her daughter’s hair, smiling. “It’s so good to see you.”

Breghan settled them beside the roaring fire in Thomas’s armchairs, as she’d come to think of them, and dragged a small table closer. When Bryan entered with a tray, she waved him over and made the introductions.

“Suddenly Ferniehirst is overflowing with beautiful women,” he said gallantly, setting the small table with a jug of ale, mugs and thick slices of cake baked with apple and drenched in a hot, sticky sauce.

Breghan cocked a brow at him. As soon as he’d left, she pulled up a stool to join Magellan and her mother around the table. “When I first got here, Bryan used to love reminding me that—” she made her voice low and gruff, “—Ferniehirst is a castle of men.”

“He does seem rather stern,” Magellan said.

“That?” Breghan rolled her eyes. “You should see him on a bad day.”

“Are you happy here, darling?” Lillian held her gaze across the table.

“As happy as might be expected.” Considering Arran’s black mood had been spiralling closer and closer to hell for days now. She wasn’t fooled by the thin veneer of politeness he wore like a mask—not to hide behind, she knew, but a barrier to keep her out.

The front door burst open to stamping boots and men’s voices. The McAllen men crowded around the hearth on the opposite side of the hall while Gardie’s lads brought in meat, bread, cheese and ale to wash it all down with.

Arran made a direct line toward them and addressed Lillian. “Your men informed me they intend to remain here with you.”

“If that’s fine with you.” She smiled up at him.

Arran nodded. “We’ve plenty spare pallets in the garrison. You should know I intend to put them to work. I’m fortifying and raising the perimeter walls and any extra hands are welcome.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” Lillian asked.

“I always expect trouble,” he replied in a neutral tone. “I have business to attend to, but I’ll see you ladies tonight at supper.”

He walked away without a single glance Breghan’s way.

“Excuse me a moment,” Breghan murmured and hurried after him. “Arran?”

He stopped but didn’t turn.

She walked around until she faced him. “Is it Sandie Armstrong’s band again?”

“We grabbed Armstrong last night.”

“Oh.” She went silent, stunned that she hadn’t known. While she’d been falling in and out of a restless sleep, he’d been out there, riding the desolate night. She’d jolted awake from dreams that wrapped her in Arran’s arms every few minutes, feeling cold and empty, wondering if Arran was lying two chambers away feeling the same. He’d been too busy chasing down Armstrong to feel anything other than bloodlust. “Are you going to—did you…?”

“Was that all?” he asked pointedly.