The Rogue (26 page)

He silenced her rebuke with his lips. She sighed and opened her mouth to him, her arms encircling his neck. He dove heart-first into Birdi’s sweet moist richness.

As her tongue made a tentative exploration across his, he rose, hauling her out of the water, and pressed her to him. His hands slid up her spine, memorizing every detail of the warm, slick flesh, then slid down and lingered on her fine hurdies, enjoying their firmness. Wanting more, needing her to understand his need, he grasped her deliciously round bottom and pressed her hips into his swollen groin. She growled deep in her throat and raised a leg, wrapping it around his. Ah, she wanted him as he did her. No question.

  The room was warm, but not anywhere near as warm as the blood surging through his limbs. He wanted her, all of her, and now there wasn’t a reason on earth why he shouldn’t consummate their union.

He carried her to the wide, four-poster canopied bed. She mewed and reached for him as he pulled away.

“Patience.” He ripped the clothes from his body and dropped down beside her. Heart racing, he drew her to his chest. As his lips slid down the smooth flesh of her neck, seeking the ultimate prize, the nipples of her well-formed breasts, he whispered, “Ye’ll now be mine in truth, Lady MacDougall.”

“How so?”

He didn’t bother to answer. She’d find out soon enough.

B
irdi groaned deep in her throat as Angus kissed the side of her right breast, as his hips pressed against her thighs. She wanted...wanted, oh, she didn’t ken what she wanted, but ‘twas something verra important. His strong hand then cupped her breast and his lips edged closer to the peak.

  
Aye, aye.

  When he latched on as babe might, something deep within her hips caught fire, and she groaned yet again. She arched to give him better access and dug her nails into his back to pull him closer.
Oh Goddess, thank ye.

When he groaned, “Aye, lass,” her heart soared. He kenned this deep desire within her, this terrible need to touch and hold, to be caressed for the first time in her life. He would quench this thirst. She was certain of it. More importantly, she was sure she would never get enough.

Angus felt certain he’d die from pure joy, so luscious was the feel of Birdi beneath his hands and mouth. When she threw a leg over his thigh he pulled her into his hips and slid a hand down her backside, seeking the secret place he longed to occupy. Was it warm and wet enough yet?
Please, Saint Bride, let it be so.

He moved a tentative finger forward and slid into delicious moist heat. She moaned into his mouth as her slick woman’s dew coated his finger and eased his passage.
Oh aye, ‘tis blessedly ready.
He tried a second, wanting to increase her pleasure, and found her tight. Far too tight, he realized, for a man his size. Ack!

‘Twas logical, but what to do now? He’d tupped more women than he had digits but never a virgin. No decent man did.

While he pondered, she groaned and slid a hand over his hip. As she explored his hurdies with a light touch, he tried counting the nails in the shutters.

When her hand delved deeper and caressed his balls, his mind screamed,
Just get on with it. She is, after all, willing and needy.

Aye. He closed his eyes, and ran the tip of a second finger through her slickness. Hoping to keep her mind on his mouth, he nibbled on her lower lip. As his tongue plunged into her sweet mouth, his finger imitated the movement his swollen phallus would soon take. To his relief, she moaned and pressed her hips against his hand. He did it again with the same results.

“Do ye like that?”

Panting, eyes half open and unfocused, she whispered “Aye. More.” He rolled and settled between her thighs, his weight on his arms and her hips tipped up to greet him.

“More, Angus, please.”

“Aye, lass.” He wanted more as well, rubbed against her, mixing his fluids with hers, and then with one hand under a fine hurdie to hold her secure, he slowly pressed forward. She immediately stiffened.

Birdi, suddenly wide-eyed, whispered, “What happened?” 

“Sssh, ‘tis all done. From here on ‘tis only pleasure.”

Brow furrowed, she didn’t appear convinced.

Their gazes locked, he grinned and slowly eased out, then slowly back into her. God, her eyes were as clear and deep as a fresh-water pool. He could drown in their depths and die a happy man.

He lowered his mouth to hers and again tasted the mint she’s sampled on the biscuits she’d eaten. He withdrew and eased forward again. This time her hands slid into his hair. Birdi then took over their kiss and pressed her hips into him.
Ah, my sweet lass.

As his pace slowly increased, so did Birdi’s. Only moments later she suddenly flew past, her breath hitching, her eyes glazed. She grabbed onto his arse and rocked, fingers digging in deep.
Oh, Birdi.

He’d been with some robust women, but none like this. She wanted, and she wanted him now. He increased the pace of his thrusts, sliding over her, the fine hairs of his chest brushing her nipples so they stood high and proud.
Come on, Birdi, come on.

She shattered then; keening his name, her back arched, her legs stiffened, and her nails digging deep into his hips as she reached for the stars.

He waited for her final spasm to pass then rocked into her fully. Once, twice, and then exploded into the deep, potent richness of Birdi MacDougall.

Panting, his heart finally slowing, he managed to open his eyes. Birdi was watching him; wonder gracing her lovely features. “Did I hurt ye, lass?” He hoped not. The last few minutes were a blur.

She ran a tentative finger along his lower lip. “Oh nay. ‘Twas wondrous, truly.” She then smiled and asked, “Can we do it again?”

He laughed and rolled with her clutched to his chest.

~#~

As gloaming settled over the land, Lady Katherine Elizabeth MacDougall sat in Blackstone’s solar, gazing at her reflection in her small, silver-backed looking glass. Satisfied with her artistry, she cleared her small dressing table of her homemade make-up and brushes, then swept away the telltale dusting of soot from its surface and snuffed out all but one candle.

She crawled between the cool sheeting and loosened the bed drapes behind her, which threw her into shadow. She fluffed her pillows, picked up her book, and settled in for what she thought might be a long wait.

To her surprise, the knock came quickly. Their priest in residence—a man who served others, she suspected, only to better serve himself—was apparently more worried about Birdi’s reaction to him than Beth realized. Good. His distraction would work to her advantage. Schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of hopeless despair, Beth moaned, “Come in.”

Father John poked his head through the doorway. “My lady, I come at yer husband’s request, but I also wish speak to ye about Sir Angus MacDougall’s ladywife.”

I bet you do.

As he hurried toward her, Beth eased forward just a bit, so he could catch a glimpse of the dark red spots marring her face through the artfully applied—if she did say so herself—faint dusting of ash by the light of the candle.

He came to an abrupt halt five feet from the bed, his hand flying to his mouth. “Oh, sweet mercy, ‘tis black plague.”

She nodded and held out a hand to him, which he ignored, so she dropped it. “Father, I ken I’ve not been very receptive to yer past attempts to bring me to the One True Faith, but as ye can plainly see matters have suddenly changed. As ye can imagine, my husband is most distressed.”

Father John nodded with the rapidity of a woodpecker.   Good. “I’m so glad ye ken our dilemma.” She offered him a weak smile, one she hoped conveyed how gracious she thought him for not bolting out the door like he no doubt itched to do. “The MacDougall asks two things of ye. First, ‘tis my husband’s wish and mine that ye provide me with daily instruction, so I might be properly prepared and receive the blessed sacraments, and...”

Eyes as wide as the top of his tankard, he took a step back. “And?”

“And that ye say naught about my...uhmm, condition upon you leaving my side.” She wrung her hands. “Panic is like forest fire. Once started, it’s impossible to stop. We can’t—canna let that happen here. Duncan will, out of necessity, quarantine us together on this island as soon as the food stores arrive tomorrow morning. Then with yer guidance we—locked in together—shall pray, and hopefully, my illness will not spread to those who choose to remain within the keep.”

Without any apparent movement, Father John had somehow managed to get his back to the door. Lowering her voice an octave, she asked, “Do I have ye word? Does my husband?”

He reached behind him, a frantic hand searching for the handle and latch. “Of course, my lady. My lips are sealed.”

She leaned back on her pillow. “You are kindness itself. Would you tell my husband I’d like to see him now?”

Nodding, Father John bolted out the door as fast as his stout little legs could carry him.

Beth smiled.

The man would be on a boat before Duncan could mount the steps to the solar. By noon tomorrow he’d be halfway to Sterling spreading the news. That would keep the Gunns and any other clan set on causing problems at bay for hopefully a year. Her family would remain safe, Duncan would get his wish of alleviating himself of the priest, Birdi would get hers, their whiskey production would stay on schedule, and she could have a babe in peace...for a change. She sighed and rose. Not a bad night’s work, all things considered.

Pouring water from the ewer into the washing bowl, she heard a plaintive cry bounce off Drasmoor’s distant hills. Startled, she turned to the open window.

Aaaawooo
rolled again across the water.

Picturing her children at play in the upper fields just this morn, her skin pebbled and her blood ran cold. She slammed the pitcher on the table.

Duncan would get an earful as soon as he opened the door. He’d assured her no wolves had been seen in these parts for more than a decade.

A
ngus stood on the parapet and stared down at Birdi where she sat huddled on a boulder at the end of the isle against the frigid November winds, her arms about her legs, her chin on her knees.

She’d been in Blackstone for a fortnight and a week and now something was fashing her near to death, and he didn’t have the slightest idea about what it might be. She refused to discuss it. More troubling was her refusal to make love.

Oh, she’d lie beside him each night, her head on his shoulder, her tears running down his chest, but then he’d awake in the middle of the night and find her curled in a ball before the fire. He’d carry her back to bed, but by morn, she’d be back on the floor again.

Her magnificent eyes were now ringed in black for lack of sleep, she was losing weight, and when she did smile it appeared so sad his heart nearly broke.

He’d had enough. Today his being the patient and considerate husband ceased. He would find out what was fashing Birdi or die trying.

He took the stairs two at a time down to the great hall. Crossing it, he nearly ran over Lady Beth. He righted her. “My pardon, Beth.” He turned to go, and she grabbed his arm.

“Come, I need speak with ye.”

“I’m sorry, but I need speak with Birdi.”

She tightened her grip his arm. “Do be kind. She’s frightened about something.”

“Humph! There’s naught to be frightened about. I love her, she’s safe here, has food and gowns.” He took her hand from his arm. “If ye’ll pardon me.”

“Angus—”

He strode out and down the bailey stairs.

A moment later he stood at Birdi’s back. She kenned his presence. He saw her tip her head. “We need to talk.”

“Not now.”

He dropped down beside her. “Look at me.”

She faced him, her cheeks chafed and scarlet from what the wind had done with her tears. “Oh, God, Birdi, ye canna go on like this. Please tell me what has ye so over- wrought.”

“Why? Ye canna change it.”

“Change what? I dinna ken what’s wrong.” When she remained mute and faced the sea again he growled in frustration. “Are ye homesick for yer glen? If so, we can visit it come spring when the snow leaves the passes.” They’d be risking life and limb but anything was better than this.

When she shook her head, he pulled her into his arms. “Birdi, ye’re driving me wode here.” He would definitely lose his mind if this kept up, if she wouldn’t confide in him. Mayhap...

“Birdi, is it yer lack of finding a new name?”

She shook her head. “I’ve grown accustomed to the one I have.”

Ack! So great was his frustration at that moment, had he been able to beat it out of her, he’d have been sorely pressed not to. “Tell me what I can do.”

She looked at him, and fresh tears careened down her cheeks only to be shoved sideways by the wind before they could fall. “Tis already done.”

That’s it!
Teeth grinding, he scooped her into his arms and strode back toward the keep.

In the great hall he called to Lady Beth, “My lady, come.”

Understanding his liege’s wife couldn’t take many flights of stairs with ease, he strode toward the stairs that led to the kitchen one level below.

Waddling behind him, she asked, “Angus, what’s amiss?”

“Just come, my lady.”

They walked through the kitchen and into the windowless distillery. He set Birdi down on a stool and lit the candle. He then brought another stool in for Lady Beth. Settling her on it, he asked, “Are ye comfy?”

Obviously confused, Lady Beth said, “Aye, but—”

“Good, because ye two are going to stay in here until such time as Birdi tells ye what has her so fashed.”

Birdi, face flushing, rose from her stool. “Ye canna be keeping us in here, Angus. She’s eight month’s gone with child!”

Hands on hips, Angus leaned forward so his nose touched Birdi’s. “I can, and I will, and no one will see hide nor hair of either of ye until I ken what the hell is going on.”