A Gift Of Gold

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Author: Jacobs Ann

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GOLD, FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH An Ellora’s Cave publication, November 2003

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. PO Box787 Hudson,OH44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-659-3 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

A GIFT OF GOLD © 2003 ANN JACOBS A GIFT OF FRANKINCENSE © 2003 CASSIE WALDER A GIFT OF MYRRH © 2003 JODI LYNN COPELAND

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imaginations and used fictitiously.

A GIFT OF GOLD, edited by ALLIE MCKNIGHT A GIFT OF FRANKINCENSE, edited by MARTHA PUNCHES A GIFT OF MYRRH, edited by PAMELA CAMPBELL Cover art by DARRELL KING.


GOLD, FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH

A Gift of Gold By Ann Jacobs

A Gift of Frankincense By Cassie Walder

A Gift of Myrrh By Jodi Lynn Copeland

A Gift of Gold


Ann Jacobs

Chapter One Summerfield Castle, Christmastide 1177

Set on a ridge overlooking the North Sea, Summerfield Castle’s gray stone towers reflected the noonday sun, giving off a silvery glow. A welcoming glow indeed for the deVere men who shivered in their armor this December day. Earl Rolfe spurred his destrier, and soon he, Will and Gavin had outpaced the troop of knights and men-at-arms. The others could take their time, guard the wagons and siege engines they’d used to quell yet another rebellion in the midlands. No doubt they all yearned for the comfort of home, too…anticipated the pleasures that awaited them. Especially Gavin. For him this would be the last time he’d return to the castle where he was born and call it home. As his father had done twenty-two years earlier, Gavin would wed with a great heiress and become master of her holdings. The wedding would take place ten days hence, at Summerfield, as part of the Christmas celebration. When he swung out of the saddle onto the ground of the frozen bailey, Gavin tried to tell himself ‘twas time. That all would end well so long as he had land and titles to pass to his own son when he became a man. He even attempted to dredge up a bit of enthusiasm toward his betrothed, Lady Evelyn fitzSimmons, whom he’d soon meet for the first time. A more sharp-tongued lady you’d be hard-pressed to find. Sends the servants a-runnin’ for cover when something’s not just right. Haughty, like nobody but her has more than a pisspot for a brain. She’s a fondness for the table, too…plump as a Christmas goose. Mayhaps barren. Mayhaps not although she gave her husband no bairns, for he was old and battle-worn. The words of the jongleur who supposedly had met the Lady Evelyn in her castle—soon to be his, Gavin reminded himself—sent another shiver clean to his balls as he dismounted and handed the reins of his snow-white destrier to a waiting serf. That jongleur had also mentioned that Castle fitzSimmons, his betrothed’s main holding, possessed high round towers. Three of them. If he found his bride too repulsive, he could confine her to one of them as soon as he got an heir on her. The way Gavin felt today after three long months of fighting, he’d have no trouble dredging up the necessary enthusiasm to fuck any female on two legs, no matter how distasteful she might prove to be. When they passed over the drawbridge, Gavin noted a lighter than usual number of men at arms along the wall and wondered briefly which of their northern neighbors might be causing havoc along the border. No matter. Had it been a serious problem that required dealing with, a messenger would have galloped


to their train to enlist their aid. ‘Twas past time for him to enjoy the comforts of home, the gaiety of the season. Putting his worries out of his mind, Gavin mounted the stone stairs and made for the great hall, with Will and their lord father at his heels. Mayhap he and Will would share a wench or two, as had been their habit for seven years now. Gavin recalled that first encounter, when they’d first learned some things were more fun when shared. The accommodating milkmaid they’d encountered in the barn at Harrow ere going to the castle to enjoy their fourteenth birthday celebration had apparently thought so, too, despite the clumsiness of two boys with no finesse and no staying power. At least she’d come back for more. Many times over. By the time they’d finished their fostering, the sassy little whore had given them as much training in pleasuring women as Uncle Giles had provided in the use of weapons and strategy for battle. Back home, they’d honed the art of seduction, learned it added to the excitement when they added toys and erotic games into the mix. Gavin’s cock stirred when he recalled the way one adventuresome kitchen maid had creamed herself when they stripped her naked and tied her to the cross-shaped beam they kept in their chamber to hang their plate armor. They took her in tandem, Will’s cock in her cunt and his in her tight, hot ass, while she whimpered and moaned and begged for more. Excitement hung in the air. Proud of his battle-hardened physique, Gavin flexed his muscles against the warm steel rings of his chain mail. He reckoned there was some of the boy left in him, for he yearned for home and family, merriment, and the sorts of ribald amusements that always made his lady mother shake her head. Debauchery ran ever rampant at Summerfield Castle, but especially during the Christmas season. His cock grew harder as he anticipated dipping it into the sweet, hot cunts of one or two willing wenches. The hall smelled of precious spices and roasting meat. A huge fire crackled in the fireplace that would soon hold the massive Yule log they’d cut last spring. Flickering beeswax candles cast shadows on walls bleached to a grayish white, illuminating tapestries that bespoke the triumphs and tragedies the earls of Summerfield had seen over the years. Gavin would never tire of hearing the tales depicted in scenes of the Holy Land—settings his father had described. Exotic places Lord Rolfe had seen when serving as his brother’s squire on the crusade that nearly cost him his life. Gavin inhaled deeply, took in the heady fragrance of the spruce boughs and pomander balls that decorated the hall. “Jasmine!” Lord Rolfe shouted from the base of the winding stair to the north tower. Gavin knew his father had gained politically by wedding with his mother, but ‘twas obvious to all that the countess had fired his sire’s blood. Damn, from the hot, needy look he saw in his father’s eyes, Gavin doubted not that the fire still burned, hardly banked at all in the twenty-two years since they’d wed. Lady Jasmine ran down the stairs, flinging herself into his father’s arms as soon as he’d laid his helm and gauntlets on a long, narrow table by the stairs. Lord Rolfe lifted her, swung her around in circles. “‘Tis good to be home once more. You told me not of any trouble along Summerfield’s borders in your last message, my love.” “Reivers. Clan MacFarlane from the look of their plaids, said the serf who brought the news. I sent a party out to chase them back over the border.” Lady Jasmine laid a hand on Lord Rolfe’s mail-clad chest. Gavin would have liked naught better than running the wily Scots laird through with his broadsword and consigning him to hell for all the trouble he caused—but damn! Not now. His ass ached from the long ride, his throat was parched for lack of ale. He stank of the road, his saddle, and his destrier. He turned


to his twin, resigned to riding out again, postponing the start of the yuletide celebration. “Shall we ride out and join in the rout?” “It will not require us both. I’ll go, be sure the bastards are running, tails ‘tween their legs,” Will said. “After all, ‘tis my inheritance they plunder. Besides, you’ve got a wedding to prepare for.” Summerfield. His brother’s legacy. Not Gavin’s. And his upcoming wedding to a widow he’d not laid eyes on. Not very cheering thoughts though they all were true. “If you do not mind, I’ll stay. My arse is saddle-weary, and you’re right. My sword won’t be needed to vanquish no more than a few bloodthirsty clansmen. I’m for a bath, some wine, and a warm wench—not necessarily in that order.”

***** The lord’s solar smelled of fresh evergreens and precious incense brought at great cost from the East. Earl Rolfe deVere lay back in his tub later that evening, sipping mulled wine whilst his lady wife rubbed away the grime of battle from his naked body. “‘Tis good we will all be together this holy season,” Lady Jasmine murmured, her soft hands stroking Rolfe’s chest before reaching under the water and squeezing his fast-awakening cock. ‘Twas a miracle that after twenty-two years, his lady still could arouse him with the simplest of touches. “I want you to name Gavin Lord of Misrule.” The younger of their twin sons held a special spot in Jasmine’s heart—his, too. Still Rolfe had to laugh. “That honor should go to one of the serfs, sweeting.” “‘Twill be the only way Gavin will ever rule Summerfield.” “I know. And I’m aware the law of primogeniture rankles you. But take heart. Gavin surely won’t have to earn his way by hiring out his sword. I’ve already gifted him with a king’s ransom in gold and jewels, he’s betrothed to the fitzSimmons heiress, and I’m certain he’ll win more titles and estates by force of arms, as Giles and I both have. Even now he and Will plan a fierce campaign against Laird MacFarlane, and I expect that one day soon they’ll rout the clansmen clear back to the highlands from whence they came. They’d best, ere that wily Scot makes off with all my livestock. When they do, I shall ask Henry to grant the MacFarlane lands to Gavin, though I know not whether he will. ‘Twould make the deVere family among the most powerful in all England.” Jasmine frowned as she worked the soap into a lather and scrubbed away some stubborn dirt from Rolfe’s forearms. “Tell me about this prisoner Will sent word that he is bringing back.” “According to his message, some men-at-arms who were patrolling our northern border caught her on Summerfield land. A Scots lass wearing the MacFarlane plaid. I’d nay be surprised were it Laird MacFarlane’s own daughter. A wild lass from all I hear. If it be she, her presence should liven the Christmas festivities. Especially for our sons who are ever searching for another pretty wench to seduce.” “Speaking of seduction, I have missed you.” Jasmine’s touch lightened to a caress, and though she stroked his arms, it was his cock that stiffened and throbbed. “Does your bath water grow cold?” she asked when a tremor of pure desire shot through his flesh. “Nay. But I grow hot.” Rising, Rolfe took a length of linen and began to dry himself. “Get you to bed,


my lady, that I may drink of your sweet honey. ‘Tis too long I’ve been away.” He’d never get enough of her, not if he lived a hundred years. His beautiful countess who’d brought him wealth and title, and most of all the love of a lifetime. “Have you a picture you’d like for us to re-enact this night?” He gestured toward the beautifully illustrated pillow book that had fascinated her from the moment he’d shown it to her years ago. “Tonight I wish for you to take me as though you’re starved. As though you’ve been without a woman since last we fucked.” She lay back, her raven hair spread across the snowy bed linens, her legs spread and her cunt glistening in the light from the fire. “Who’s to say I am not starved, my beautiful lady? ‘Tis true,” he added when she shot him a skeptical look. “When I think of you, it destroys any passion that might rise in me for the camp followers who service my men.” Her smile warmed his heart, set his balls on fire. “I too have starved, my lord earl.” “Then let us feast together.” Tossing aside the drying cloth, Rolfe joined Jasmine on their massive bed and straddled her, offering his cock for her to feast upon as he buried his face between her shapely thighs. Her whimpers, and the copious flow of hot, sweet juices from her cunt attested to her need—a need Rolfe was determined to slake as he flailed her clit with his tongue. When she closed her lips around him, his cock swelled to near bursting against the heavy ring in its head, and his nipples tightened against the small gold rings that had adorned them for nearly thirty years. The tiny sounds she made as she suckled him made this encounter incredibly erotic…incredibly arousing. Tonight he felt not one moment older than he had when he’d first taken the maiden he called Jasmine to his bed, nor one bit less grateful that God had sent him a fallen angel without a memory to tutor in all the arts of love. Her clit hardened and swelled when he tongued her there, and when he slid a finger into her cunt and found her wet and ready, he had to caution himself to make the moment last. She felt tight. So tight he’d not have believed she’d borne him four sturdy sons if he’d not watched each of them emerge from her slender body. And God’s bones but her cunt fit his cock like a glove, hot and slippery and schooled over the years in pleasure with the ben-wa balls she wore each day as she directed the castle servants. Her anus drew his attention, made him remember their wedding night—and the eunuch Arnaud who had initiated that part of his bride’s lush body to the pleasures of the flesh. Mayhaps—nay, though Arnaud would be arriving with Giles, Brianna, and their children to celebrate Gavin’s marriage, Rolfe had not been able to curb his possessive streak sufficiently to ask again for the use of the big, docile creature who’d guarded his sister-in-law’s virtue since her marriage to his elder brother. With gentle fingers Rolfe invaded Jasmine’s rear passage as he used his tongue to fuck her cunt. When she stopped stroking his ass cheeks and slid her hands between them to cup his tight, aching balls, he could waste no more time on the niceties of arousing her. If he did not take her now, he knew he’d fill her mouth with burst after burst of his pent-up seed. “Stop, my Jasmine,” he ground out, turning and positioning his cock at the dripping entrance to her cunt. “I’d come inside you, where my seed may yet take root.”


“You’d still give me a daughter, would you not?” Her smoky eyes shining, Jasmine framed his face in her hands as she lifted her hips to meet his initial thrust. “‘Tis to my shame that we’ve not been blessed again.” “Hush. I told you, sweeting, ere we were wed, that deVere men throw sons. ‘Tis not your fault we’ve not been blessed with a tiny lass. And I’d as soon not risk you again in the effort.” “What will be, will be. Oh, my love, you fill me so completely. How I’ve missed you, missed this.” She gasped when he sank into her to his balls, finding along the way that spot that always produced an instant climax. He braced himself for the hard, quick contractions of her spasming flesh, held steady as she came, then started to thrust again. He’d make her come for him again. This time he stroked the silken flesh of her throat, her beautiful breasts. Sucked upon the nipples that had fed his sons. He murmured words of sex and love and the lasting devotion with which she’d blessed him over the years. When she screamed again with the force of the pleasure he gave her, he let go of his iron control and buried his cock deep. So deep he could hardly feel where he ended and she began as he spurted out his seed deep within his Jasmine’s beautiful beloved body. “On the morrow, I’ll name Gavin Lord of Misrule,” he told her later as they lay spoonlike beneath the soft, warm sable furs that made their blanket. “I cannot deny my Jasmine anything her heart desires—except her little girl. And a love match for the son of her heart.”

***** A love match. Lady Evelyn fitzSimmons paced her tower room at Summerfield, coveting the painfully obvious mutual emotions she’d seen passing between her betrothed husband’s handsome parents. Not that she’d seen them from any less distance than she’d glimpsed Sir Gavin, soon to become her bridegroom. Upon her arrival at Summerfield yesterday, she’d begged Lady Jasmine not to reveal her presence, to allow her to remain in the guest tower alone to contemplate her upcoming wedding. Evelyn glanced down at her ample curves and tried not to envy her future mother-in-law’s lithe, slender body. No way could she, with her love for good food and fine wine, starve off enough flesh in five short days to compare with Lady Jasmine…not that she’d do it if she could. Not even for Sir Gavin, with his great height, powerful body, and a face that would do justice to a dark angel. Evelyn reminded herself her betrothed was wedding with her for her estates, not because he loved her or even desired her person. She shouldn’t mind that. After all, she’d wed with the elderly and bellicose Baron fitzSimmons four years earlier for the wealth and position he’d offered. As she’d done then, her betrothed could always visualize the land and castles that came with her if looking at her made him regret his decision. But what if Gavin couldn’t stomach the thought of bedding her? Unlike women, men had to summon a measure of passion ere they could perform in the marriage bed. While she’d found some, like her late husband, who’d appreciated her ample curves, she’d come across a good many potential suitors who’d run at the thought of bedding a woman whose waist they couldn’t span with their two hands. Handsome, virile men like the one she was about to wed.


You’re naught but the veriest coward, Evelyn. Otherwise you’d not be cowering in the shadows, keeping your presence secret from Sir Gavin and the castle folk. Though she chided herself for a fool, Evelyn had stayed glued to the peephole in the tower’s thick stone wall, afraid to face her betrothed and mayhaps see revulsion spreading across his angel face. “My lady?” The maid set a brimming tray of food on the table by the single window. Obviously Cook had gotten word from someone—probably the serving girls who’d been setting the high table when Evelyn had arrived—of her generous proportions, and assumed she possessed a healthy appetite. By Evelyn’s quick calculation, the wench had brought enough meat, cheese, bread and wine to serve the entire high table. She fought down feelings of resentment that had naught to do with the slender maid who’d inadvertently caused those sour emotions to surface. Evelyn made herself smile at the housemaid who apparently intended to stay and help her ready herself for bed. “What’s your name, girl?” “Mavis, m’lady. I’d help you with yer clothes if I may, so’s I can answer m’lord Gavin’s summons. He doesn’t like having to wait.” The wench’s knowing grin hinted her purpose with Evelyn’s intended would be more pleasurable than merely assisting him at his bath. An idea began to form. What if… “Mavis, do you think I might take your place? My lord Gavin knows me not. I’d—” “Fuck ‘im, m’lady? For that’s what he’s summoned me to do. He’s asked for two, though. I suppose ye could disguise yerself and take Henny’s place.” “Two?” She’d heard of the debauchery that went on with the young lords and knights at Summerfield, but she’d not believed until now that it went so far. Still…the idea of deceiving Gavin intrigued her. ‘Twas a way, though a dangerous one, to learn whether he found her curves appealing—or appalling. “I’ll do it, but I want him to believe I’m a servant girl.” It would serve her satyr of a future husband right to fuck her, not knowing he’d be doing it nightly soon enough. And he wouldn’t be able to help feeling at least a bit abashed once he learned the real identity of the strange woman he’d plowed just days before taking marriage vows with her. Mavis gave her a critical once-over. “Ye’ll need clothes. And ye’d better not talk like the fine lady you are. Wait. I’ll borrow a gown from Cook. She be about yer size.” Her ego stung a bit by Mavis’s last remark, Evelyn stripped down to her plain white linen shift. Excitement won out over the sense of uneasiness that lingered in the back of her mind. “By God, I’ll test out the bonny lad I’m weddin’ and he’ll be none the wiser.” While Evelyn twirled about, getting into the role of a wanton serving girl and testing the manner of speaking she’d use, Mavis returned with a drab blue garment. It smelled like grease from the cooking fire and felt like grit against skin used to velvets and satin. Evelyn wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her disguise had better work to make wearing this rag worthwhile. As they went downstairs, crossed the great hall, and ascended a steep curving stairway to another of Summerville’s crenellated towers, Evelyn silently laughed at the prospect of putting one over on her lascivious future husband.


“Let’s tell him yer name’s Evie, m’lady. Yer name be pretty, but it’d never belong to a serving wench.” Evelyn laughed out loud. “Fine. Evie it is, but ye’d best not be callin’ me m’lady unless ye want to spoil his surprise.”

Chapter Two

In the north tower, Sir Gavin paced naked across the cold stone floor. Where were the wenches he’d summoned to come relieve him? Damn it, he’d had this raging hard-on since leaving his Uncle Giles’s castle a week earlier. Shivering, he tossed another log onto the fireplace grate. The warmth slowly curled around him, almost like his absent lovers should be doing in yonder bed. Gavin’s stone-hard cock twitched, reminding him of the wenches. He’d demanded a pair out of habit, even though he doubted Will would return in time to join in the fun. Gavin considered inviting his other brothers, eleven-year-old Alfred and thirteen-year-old Henry, who’d come home from fostering for the holidays, to take part in the debauchery, but he quickly discarded that idea. His lady mother would box his ears, much like she’d boxed them years ago when he and Will had enticed two serf girls to their beds to celebrate their twelfth birthday with some mutual bodily explorations. As he recalled, the whipping he’d been administered had caused far more pain to his ass than the wenches had provided him in pleasure. Oh well, he was hard enough to service them both and ask for more. Where were they anyhow? “M’lord?” The dark-eyed girl who suddenly appeared in the open doorway to the solar was young and pretty. Mavis, if he recalled her name correctly from their last encounter. Though Mavis was eminently fuckable, it was her companion who made Gavin’s heart beat faster. Her flaxen hair flowed loose to her generous hips, and her ripe breasts heaved—whether with anticipation or fear, he could not say. Plump as a Christmas goose, she was. Anxious to get on with the fucking, too, if her haste to cast off the filthy servant’s gown was an indication of her ardor, and not merely a perfectly understandable desire to be free from the pervasive smell of roasting meat that clung to the ugly garment. It mattered not if she weren’t already slick and wet. She’d get hot for him soon enough. He’d stay by the fire, keep his ass warm while the chill air made his lovers’ nipples pucker and drew goose bumps on their naked skin. “Both of you. Disrobe and come to me.” He imagined the one wench’s pale hair wrapped around his cock, warming his balls. Trailing over his thighs and ass while she sucked him dry…while he tongue-fucked the tiny brunette and introduced her to a cock she’d not yet seen. The ruby-red blown glass dildo had caused almost as much of a furor among the jades at King Henry’s court as his and Will’s distinctively pierced rods.


First he wanted to sample the plump wench’s quivering breasts. They’d more than fill his large hands, and their rosy puckered nipples tempted him mightily when she lifted off her shift. He longed to swirl his tongue over a small blood-red birthmark he spied just below the nipple of her left breast. Rising, he smiled at her when her huge china-blue eyes opened wide and her mouth formed a sensual “O” at the sight of his pierced, heavily jeweled cock. “Gawd, somebody whacked off yer foreskin and stuck pins through yer knob!” “You didn’t know? There’s hardly a soul on the marches who’s not heard of the deVere cocks. Come, take a closer look.” Ere dawn broke, the buxom beauty would have examined in minute detail the rod that apparently caused her such consternation. Gavin’s balls tightened painfully as he looked at her soft, soft skin. The saucy twin moons of her well-padded ass. He cursed the pale gold curtain of hair that hid her features while she knelt and took his seed sac in her dainty hands, even as he longed to bury his face in the fragrant, silky strands. “Must be a king’s fortune just in this big gold ring.” Lubrication seeped from his slit when she rotated the heavy ring that pierced his cockhead, and when she tugged gently on one of the gold studs that ringed his corona, he moaned. God’s blood, but she had a magic touch. “Mavis, ye didn’t tell me we’d be fuckin’ a prick full of precious metals.” It suddenly struck Gavin that he couldn’t recall having seen this angel who was quickly setting his blood a-boiling. He wouldn’t have missed her, if she’d been about the castle while he was home. Ever mindful as he was of the earl’s enemies using whatever means they could to get at members of his family, Gavin asked sharply, “What’s your name, girl?” Though her speech marked her a villein, he didn’t often see a serf so obviously well-fed. Or one with such soft, velvety hands and shining hair. She stood, met his gaze with a degree of self-possession unusual in a servant. “Evie, m’lord. I come from the village.” “Well, Evie, you’ve a sassy mouth. I suggest you use it to pleasure me. “ Ironic, this smart-mouthed woman bore a variation of the same Christian name as Lady Evelyn fitzSimmons, his betrothed. “Come closer, Mavis. I’d pleasure you, too.” Evie’s pale hair formed a gleaming blanket about her upper body when she knelt again at Gavin’s feet and took his cockhead between her soft, moist lips. The silky strands brushed his thighs and tickled the tender flesh of his scrotum while he fondled Mavis’s small, pert breasts. ‘Twas all Evelyn could do to resist chomping her betrothed’s huge, jeweled sword. Be damned if she’d share him with the serving girls once she was his wife! “Ah, Mavis, my sweet. You taste as good as ever!” “‘Tis always a treat whenever you call me, m’lord Gavin.” “You, Evie girl. Take a bit more of my cock. Suck it harder, would you?” She’d suck him harder, all right. She opened wider, lowered her mouth on him until the ring in the end of his cockhead tickled her throat. And deliberately let her teeth graze the bejeweled ridge of his corona.” “Ow. Easy there, or you’ll bite it off.”


If only…but no, ‘twas her own pleasure tool she’d be destroying if she followed the impish voice inside her head. Her tool. On their wedding night she’d lock it away…and set it free only when she wanted satisfaction! Still it rankled. It was Mavis getting the benefit ofher betrothed husband’s hands and mouth. Mavis whose passion he was arousing whilst she, Evie, set his own blood a-boiling. Deliberately she dug her nails into the muscular flesh of his buttocks as she sucked his cock with feigned enthusiasm. “Ah, Will, I assume you routed the MacFarlane clansmen ere they paupered us all. Come on, join in the fun.” God in heaven, Lord William must have just walked in on them. Evelyn dug her nails in harder, clamped her lips down harder on Gavin’s swollen cock. Unsure whether to flee—not likely possible, she imagined—or stay and take part in a fuckfest that involved not only her betrothed but his older twin brother, she hesitated. A moment too long, it appeared, for she felt chilled skin against her back and a pair of cold hands plucking at her nipples. Hot sweet breath prickled the skin on the sensitive nape of her neck as soon as another pair of hands—Gavin’s hands—swept her hair over her shoulder. “Who is this delectable wench?” Like Gavin’s, Will’s voice was deep and sensual, the voice of a skilled lover. When he nibbled at her exposed earlobe, he made her shiver. “Here, Will. Meet Evie. She’ll warm you quickly enough, I’ll warrant. Oh, yes, Evie girl. Suck me dry. Make me forget that ere a sennight passes I’ll be a married man.” A married man who’d ne’er again fuck a serving girl. Evelyn redoubled her efforts as Gavin’s brother tugged her nipples and nudged her weeping cunt with his own fine blade. How would Gavin feel when he learned he’d given his bride to his own brother? ‘Twas an arousing thought…an arousing situation. God’s blood, how hers boiled when Gavin tossed the furs from the bed onto the floor, lay down before the fire, and drew her lips back to his cock—while Will spread her legs and knelt behind her, rubbing his pulsating sword along her wet slit, in the creases where her thighs and body met. She wanted to rear back, take his cock into her body when it nudged the dripping entrance to her cunt…the sensitive tissue around her anus. Vaguely Evelyn’s mind registered that Mavis sat squarely on Gavin’s face, and that he was using his tongue to lap the servant’s well-used cunt while tugging Evelyn’s own nipples between his callused thumbs and forefingers. The delicious sensation of fullness dispelled any jealousy…anger. For she had them both. Her betrothed and his brother. The slightly salty taste of the slick juices that seeped around the ring in Gavin’s cock tickled her tongue while his brother’s love tool primed her quim, spread her honey along her slit, over the puckered entrance to her rear passage. The sensual assault made her crazy with wanting more. Wanting them both. Evelyn’s excitement bubbled as she imagined how ‘twould feel…one identical twin’s cock plowing her cunt, the other invading her ass. “Ohhhh,” she murmured around the turgid flesh stretching her lips when something hard and cold slid past the weeping lips of her quim and lodged in her cunt. Not a cock…what? Whatever it was it heated quickly, set her cunt afire when she contracted her inner muscles around the smooth, hard object. It slid in and out, stoking the flames, making her suck harder on the cock in her


mouth as though that would entice the other cock to fill her empty, aching ass. The virgin hole Mavis had warned her to prepare. To stretch as she’d once stretched her cunt for Baron fitzSimmons whose tool had been whispered to be immense. The glass phallus she’d used was a puny toy compared with the throbbing cock that now pulsated in her mouth. Anticipation built as Gavin used his rough, callused hands to pinch her nipples, tug on them. Gavin rocked back and forth, making her take his cock deeper down her throat with each leisurely thrust. She swallowed, wanting more of that long, hot shaft while she kneaded his seed sac ever so gently, feeling the twin orbs within shift against her seeking fingers. Lord William’s hot cock between her thighs probed her puckered rear passage. Slippery with her own honey, it sought entrance. Will’s callused palms rasped against her tender flesh as he squeezed her buttocks, spreading the plump, moist cheeks for his cock. “You want her cunt or her ass, Gavin?” he asked as though offering the breast or a leg of a roast duck on his trencher. “Our father tells me you’re Lord of Misrule, so you rightfully deserve first choice.” “I want her cunt.” Gavin’s reply was barely audible since he didn’t bother to move his mouth away from Mavis’s slit. Apparently Will heard it, though. Before Evelyn had time to think, he’d positioned his cock and pushed until its jeweled head popped past the tight muscle and seated itself within her ass. Ohhhh. It hurt, yet she wanted more. Wanted Will’s big cock to fill her there, her betrothed’s to replace the slender object that barely filled her cunt. Slowly. When Will buried himself deeper, the throbbing heat seared her ass. Her moans reverberated around Gavin’s cock that stuffed her mouth. Sensation flooded her, made her tremble at the dual invasion even as her quim wept for more. “Come take her cunt,” Will said. “I warrant it’s as tight and welcoming as her ass.” Evelyn heard a slap of flesh on flesh, and a whining protest from Mavis. Then Gavin laughed. “Up with you, Mavis. Go play with yourself whilst I fuck Mistress Evie. You may choose one of the toys from yonder box.” Every one of his bulging muscles, each inch of his golden hairless skin set Evelyn’s nerve endings on fire when Gavin slid beneath her. His steaming shaft seared her belly, her mound, the tight little love button that begged for attention. Another hand—Will’s, she thought—reached under her belly and retrieved the dildo from her cunt. When Will raised her, he thrust forward, burying his cock to the balls in her ass. His seed sac wedged between her ass cheeks. It hurt. But it felt good, too. The burning, stretching sensation. The incredible heat that overtook her when Gavin’s jeweled cockhead sought and found her quim, slid home. God’s blood but she’d never felt so full. So taken. The brothers’ two big cocks impaled her, stretching her. Throbbing within her body, the tandem motions bounced off the thin wall of tissue that separated them. “Ohhh, melords,” she whimpered, barely remembering in her passion to disguise her speech—recalling just in time that she played the role of a wanton serf girl. “Like this, do you?” Gavin asked, flexing his hips and sliding in her cunt up to his balls while his brother


slid out of her rear. God’s blood. They fucked in perfect harmony. Delicious, hot sensations bubbled in her cunt. Gavin’s hands kneaded her breasts, tugged at her nipples. He nipped the soft flesh at her throat, took it in his mouth and suckled. Tongued it as if to soothe the bruise he made with his teeth and lips. The dual assault was too much. The pleasure too great. Pressure built with each rocking thrust, each brush of Gavin’s hard ridged abdomen against her soft, rounded belly, every nudge of Will’s against her ass cheeks. Gavin’s scratchy cheek abraded her throat, her jaw. Every hard pinch of his fingers on her distended nipples dragged her closer to ecstasy. When they increased the pace, rocking her harder between their bodies and ramming their big cocks deeper into her quivering holes, she came in long, exhausting bursts. Starbursts, blue, red, gold, purple exploded in her head as the two cocks spasmed within her body, spurting wave after wave of steaming seed into her cunt. Her ass. The heat of her orgasm mellowed into a warm glow when they lay back, one on either side of her, each holding her as though they’d not easily let her go. Evelyn would have liked to sleep in the brothers’ identical strong arms but she dared not. Untangling herself from their embraces, she admired their big hard bodies whilst she put on her gown, then gave out a sigh as she and Mavis took their leave. ‘Twas God’s own pity she couldn’t wed them both.

Chapter Three

‘Twas the first day of Christmas. Wine flowed and all manner of sweetmeats and pies accompanied the usual bread and cheese with which the occupants of Summerfield Castle broke their fast. Two burly men-at-arms turned a spit on which a whole deer was being roasted for the coming feast. More men tended the hearths in the kitchen, where Cook presided over the preparation of the traditional boar’s head, more mincemeat pies, and several swans whose roasted carcasses would be refeathered ere the evening meal began. Named Lord of Misrule by his parents before the hunt where he’d personally skewered that unfortunate boar, Gavin lost no time once they’d returned to the hall in leading the Yuletide merriment. His first order was for his twin to bestow kisses on every lady and wench caught breakfasting in the great hall. He laughed when Will returned to the high table, his cock tenting his tunic. “Methinks you lingered too long with the MacFarlane wench, brother. Remember her sire, and that the acorn falls not far from the tree. She’s as likely to skewer you as suck your cock.” Gavin leaned back in his lord father’s high-backed chair and considered what mischief he’d order next. Will laughed at the warning. “Never fear, my misguided Lord of Misrule. I’ll guard my back. And my


cock. Where is the plump pigeon we sandwich fucked yestereve?” Gavin wondered that himself, until he remembered. “She said she came from the village. Mayhaps I’ll visit her there ere I order the firing of the Yule log. Nay. I want not to wait that long to fuck her again.” He spied the other wench, and bellowed, “Mavis! Come you to me.” The wench bowed low, giving both twins a fine view of her pert, ripe breasts. Gavin took her hand, bid her rise. “Fetch Evie to me. She stole away yestereve while we two dozed. Off with you. I’d see her ere we go to drag in the Yule log.” His lady mother shot him a look that needed no translation. She was not happy that he’d publicly singled out one of the castle sluts. She’d be less thrilled if he ordered another one to service him before one and all. When she turned back to his father, though, Gavin decided another order might serve him well. “As Lord of Misrule, I order the Earl and Countess of Summerfield to retire to their bedchamber. Methinks they need more rest this Christmas Day.” His father laughed, then stood and took Lady Jasmine’s hand. “We thank you, my Lord of Misrule. I’ve been away too many wintry nights, and I long to pass this day with none but my lady. My people, I wish you all a Happy Christmas. We will take our leave, and join you again ere the feasting begins—with permission of Gavin, Lord of Misrule.” After waving his parents away, Gavin set the assembled knights and ladies to dancing and singing familiar carols while he waited impatiently for Evie. His time for play could end at any moment—would necessarily end with the arrival of his betrothed. While he didn’t expect to care particularly for her, he’d not insult her by dallying with a peasant wench before her aristocratic nose. ‘Struth, he held out a shred of hope that in Lady Evelyn he’d find the sort of love his uncle Giles had discovered with the stranger he’d been ordered by King Henry to wed. Still, Gavin intended to make the most of his remaining freedom.

***** “Sir Gavin said you’re to come to him now, m’lady. He be Lord of Misrule and ye dare not disobey.” Mavis wrung her hands. Apparently the idea that she’d be punished if she couldn’t produce “Evie” petrified her. “Surely he’d not cause you harm.” Though Evelyn had heard tales of debauchery that she now knew firsthand were true, she doubted Gavin would resort to violence against those who served them—Lord of Misrule or not. “‘Tis impossible that I masquerade before the entire gathering of revelers masquerading as a serving wench.” “If we dressed ye in Cook’s gown—” “Think, girl. That disguise does nothing to change my face. All who see me will know who I am if they’ve ever laid eyes on me before. Those who haven’t will figure out quickly enough who Sir Gavin’s bed wench was, when I appear as myself to say my marriage vows.” Though she’d not been to King Henry’s court, Evelyn had hardly been a recluse. Chances were good—excellent—that at least one of the knights and ladies celebrating Christmas and the upcoming wedding at Summerfield would recognize her no matter how she tried to disguise herself.


“God’s teeth. ‘Twill cause a furor of gossip. What have I done?” Mavis scrunched up her forehead as if she were in deep thought. Finally she spoke. “Mayhaps ye should ask for yer betrothed husband to join ye here. Confess yer deception. It’s for sure he’s hot to fuck ye, so he might forgive ye.” And Gavin’s destrier just might grow wings and fly. But Evelyn could come up with no less odious solution, however hard she tried. She began rifling through the trunk that held her wedding finery. When she found a sheer white silk gown and forest-green velvet tunic, she thrust it into the maid’s trembling hands. “All right. I cannot see any alternative, though I expect he will want to throttle me. Help me dress, and then go tell Sir Gavin that the wench Evie wishes him to meet her in this tower.” “Evie wouldn’t meet him dressed fit to kill, m’lady,” Mavis said, a dubious expression on her face as she looked at the luxurious fabric. “She’d meet him in somethin’ she knew would stiffen his rod right quick.” From Evelyn’s observation of yestereve, she deduced that it took very little to make her future husband’s cock stand at attention. She wasn’t certain, however, that she wanted it randy and ready this morn. Mayhaps…but no. She needed to greet him with dignity, explain away her actions of the night before. Bones of Saint Aegis, what had she done? While there was a small chance Gavin would accept her having disguised herself to meet him and learn if he desired her, only the veriest idiot would stand for her having fucked not only him but also by his twin brother while she played the role of wanton wench. “It matters not. My only hope is that he will want my properties enough to wed with me ere he slaughters me the way you say he did the boar on this morning’s hunt.” Evelyn snatched the garments from Mavis’s hands and yanked them over her head. “Hurry, sew the sleeves on and lace the tunic. As tightly as you can.” Why should she care how she looked? ‘Twas certain Gavin would not. Still Evelyn sucked in her breath while Mavis laced the sides of the tunic, holding her arms out of the way. Knowing it to be her best feature, she left her hair uncovered, brushing the pale strands until they shone before catching it up within a jeweled snood. “Go, Mavis. Summon my Lord of Misrule ere I lose my courage and jump from yonder window.”

Chapter Four

“M’lord of Misrule, the lady Evie begs ye meet her in the guest tower.” Saucy wench. Dared to defy the Lord of Misrule. Gavin’s cock twitched. It ever liked a challenge. “Rise, Mavis, and take me wherever it is that Evie cowers. I’ll not take my displeasure out on the


messenger.” He glanced about the hall. “Will, I cede you the duty of dragging in the Yule log. I’ll return to light it ere long.” “You need not my help in taming Evie, brother?” “Nay. We may enjoy her later, once I’ve tied her to my bed where she belongs.”

***** The thought that Evie had been fucking with one of his parents’ noble guests irked Gavin as he followed Mavis up the winding stairs. Why, he didn’t know, because ‘twas obvious she was naught but a castle whore. He noticed when they reached the solar door that Evie was occupying the space he imagined his lady mother had ordered saved for the guest of honor—his bride. And that Mavis was rapping respectfully on the closed door and waiting for permission to enter. What the…was that Evie? In silk and velvet, her ample tits practically spilling from the low neckline of the gown. Jewels in rainbow hues glittered from the gold mesh snood that barely contained her pale tresses. The buxom whore must have lost her mind, pilfering the finery of one of his parents’ guests. God’s nightgown, but she looked good enough to eat, cleaned up and wearing something other than that greasy servant’s gown. She looked better wearing nothing at all. Quickly he stepped inside the door, slamming it in Mavis’s worried-looking face and throwing the bolt. No need to get a guest involved in Evie’s punishment. He’d relish doing it himself. Mayhaps he’d even take her to the Great Hall, order the revelers to pay her homage as they would a great lady—as they would his bride. Strip her naked and fuck her in broad daylight, before the assembled knights and men-at-arms. Gavin opened his mouth to speak, but naught came out. Evie held him speechless. Enthralled. Mayhaps he’d take her with him when he left here, buy her raiment like this, and lock her away in a tower at Castle fitzSimmons for his pleasure alone. Once he’d done his duty and gotten an heir on his bride, he amended when his conscience tweaked him. “You dare to steal our guests’ raiment?” he asked when he found his voice. “‘Tis mine. I am Lady Evelyn, your betrothed wife.” “You lie. You’re Evie, a castle whore who pleasured me and my brother yestereve. You could be flogged for being here, you know. Take off that purloined finery, lay it carefully upon yon chest, and service your Lord of Misrule. I may yet let you go unpunished. Or I may not.” Her pale eyes flashed fury—or was it fear? “I tell you, I’m Lady Evelyn fitzSimmons, soon to be your bride. Do I sound like some peasant wench?” She sounded not like the jade he and Will had fucked until she fainted from the pleasure of it. Today her Norman French sounded fit enough even for King Henry’s court. And her tone as haughty as the jongleur had described. But ‘twas impossible. No lady would have… “Disrobe or I shall rip the garments off your ripe, trembling body.”


She made no move to obey, and that infuriated him. He stepped closer, so close he felt her heat, her fear, and laid a hand just below the crest of her left tit. “If I find the mark of Satan on this ample breast, I’ll know for certain that you lie.” “Nay, you will not. You will know your bride came to you, wishing to learn if she could summon your lust. Evie and Evelyn are one and the same.” As though he’d been scalded, he jerked back his hand. “The marriage is off,” he snapped, ashamed that even now his cock rose to salute the jaded bitch his sire had contracted for him to wed. “I’d not breed my heirs upon the veriest of whores.” “Who are you to name me whore? Think you I’m any more anxious to be plowed by a whoremaster who calls for not one but two peasant wenches to slake his lust on his arrival home, before he even breaks bread and slakes his thirst for wine?” “You risk your safety, Madame. Enlighten me. For what earthly reason did you decide to play my whore when in a few short days you’d have become my bride? To fuck not only me but also my brother?” “I’d heard…that you were a cocksman of some repute. I wanted not to wed with you if—” She paused, as though reluctant to go on. “—if you could not dredge up the desire necessary for you to do your marital duty with me.” “You heard I sometimes couldn’t stiffen my rod for a lover?” Gavin searched his memory, but couldn’t recall ever having suffered that malady. “Nay. But I lost two suitors my guardian brought to me…two who said they’d not abide a fat, pale pigeon in their beds. I wanted to be sure you were not—” “Well, you found out. Madame, your appearance does not disgust me, but your actions of yestereve certainly do. By the Rood, you allowed my brother to fuck your ass while you sucked my cock. While I plowed your cunt and filled you with my seed.” God’s nightshirt! The memory of her cunt milking his cock as he climaxed deep inside her was as vivid as if it were happening now. He might have gotten her with child already. He’d never even thought of pulling out, the way he always did with the wenches he fucked. His sire had threatened to disown him and Will if their seed took root in the bellies of any Summerfield villeins. He could only imagine the punishment that would result from him impregnating a lady and leaving her unwed. “The marriage is back on,” he spat out, the expression on his handsome face anything but happy. “You may already carry my heir.” “What if I do not wish to wed with a whoremaster who likes to share his women with his brother and God knows who else?” “‘Tis not your choice. I will tell the priest you carry my child and you’ll not be able to refuse to say the vows.” The flat, unemotional delivery of his edict told Evelyn more than words could have that Gavin planned further punishment. Punishment she deserved, without a doubt, yet he deserved it, too. After all, ‘twas he who’d called for two whores to pleasure him. He who’d invited Lord William to come join in the fun. It was he who’d moved on her and in her in perfect tandem with his twin. Such perfectly coordinated fucking was not a skill learned in one or two encounters unless her guess was seriously off.


“Will you share me with your brother after we are wed?” she asked ere she could hold back the words. His smile belied the chill in his voice. “You liked it, didn’t you? Me in your cunt, Will in your ass? Stuffing you like the Christmas goose now roasting in Cook’s oven for tonight’s feast? You ask if I’ll share you again once we’re wed? I may, since you’ve proven it creams your cunt so well. I’d not wish to deny you your bawdy pleasures. Will and I have ever shared—our training, our knighting…’tis natural that we’ve shared our wenches, too. I see no reason now to stop.” “‘Tis against God’s laws.” “So is fucking. That doesn’t mean fucking isn’t done every day, every hour, by everyone from the King to the lowest of serfs. Evie, I know you like it. Like it well indeed. You came so hard I thought you’d scream the castle down when Will and I were tandem fucking you. I am glad to find you have blood as hot as mine. Mind your mouth, or I’ll confine you to a tower—and confine my fucking to a willing mistress or two, once we settle in at Castle fitzSimmons. And do not ever think of cuckolding me. The only fucking you’ll be doing in future is with me—and Will, if he visits and I wish to share.” Gavin obviously thought he held the upper hand—in truth, he did. Still Evelyn couldn’t resist pointing out again that as she had sinned, so had her betrothed. His dark eyes flashed fire. “You are fortunate ‘twas I and not my brother who took your cunt, for you’re not high enough in the king’s favor to be given to a future earl. I’ll hear no more whining about my actions, now or ever. Come, there is no reason for you to hide in the tower. And I’m too angry with you to fuck you now. Partner me in the revelry, but remember, I demand your obedience in all things.” Thinking acquiescence the better part of valor, Evelyn meekly followed her angry betrothed down the stairs. ‘Twould be time later to test her seductive skills—learn whether they were sufficient to persuade Gavin that having sex felt better than exacting retribution.

***** By the time the Lord of Misrule returned to the hall and introduced his betrothed to the assembled crowd, the roe deer had been hauled from the fire and taken to the kitchen for further preparation. The twelve-foot long Yule log they’d cut last spring lay near the door, ready to be dragged to the huge fireplace and lit with the charred remains of last year’s log. Laughing, Gavin led the knights and men at arms in the annual ritual, lighting the crackling heartwood kindling in remnants of the cooking fire. He touched the blazing kindling to dry bark on the huge log, lighting it instantly. The instant igniting of the log foretold good luck for the household, just as eating the first offered mince pie was said to prevent bad things happening in the coming year to the one who ate it. Evelyn munched a flaky pie Gavin had given her, saying a silent prayer that the superstition was true. If it was, Gavin would forgive her…and their marriage would be one of joy and contentment. “Let the merriment begin. I command you all to celebrate Christ’s birth—and the crowning of the Conqueror a hundred and eleven years ago this day.” Gavin lifted his goblet, downing its contents in a single swallow. Thankfully, Lord William’s attention focused on a red-haired, skinny wench wearing what Evelyn


thought looked like the MacFarlane plaid. Strange. She’d heard Summerfield warred with Clan MacFarlane over some dispute or other. “Who is that woman with your brother?” she asked Gavin when he returned to her side. “Lady Margaret MacFarlane. She is my lord father’s guest—or should I say hostage? Our men-at-arms caught her on Summerfield lands yestereve, and Will brought her here. Though his intention was to hold her as surety for her wily father’s good behavior, it looks as though he’s decided to use her for another purpose.” Evelyn didn’t doubt that, for Will had his hand in the Scots maid’s bodice, feeling her skinny tits in full view of anyone who looked. He bent, whispered something in her ear, smiling at her reply. He squeezed her shoulders, then strode toward Evelyn and Gavin. “I beg your aid, oh Lord of Misrule. I’d have you order Lady Margaret to bathe me.” “Consider it done.” Gavin slammed his goblet on the heavy oak table, drawing the attention of most of the revelers. “Mistress Margaret MacFarlane, I command you to go now and bathe my lord brother, Will. I expect him to smell as fresh as the flowers from our mother’s rose garden ere you’re done.” Margaret blushed prettily. Evelyn envied her that, for when embarrassed, her own cheeks turned fiery hot and her pale skin mottled most unattractively. Gavin lowered his voice, to where only those close by could hear. “Fuck her for me, too, my brother. Unfortunately I must stay and order the merrymaking.” He gestured toward Evelyn, the action insulting. “And, of course, entertain my dear betrothed. I assume you notice the resemblance between her and the buxom whore we pleasured yestereve.” Will had the grace to lower his gaze. Oh, no. Here it came. The heat, the blotches and splotches. Knowing her cheeks and chin were fast becoming a hideous mass of red and purple welts, she was determined not to let her embarrassment show further. “Sir Gavin is too kind. Few of my suitors have ever likened me to a favored whore.” Gavin’s furious look satisfied her that she’d managed to get under his skin.

Chapter Five

As Gavin and probably his wanton future wife well knew, Will could care less about the bath he’d requested that Lady Margaret MacFarlane give him. When they arrived in his room, though, a steaming tub awaited them. His cock twitched when he remembered how sweetly the Scots wench had fitted against his chest, belly and groin on the ride back to Summerfield last night. All day he’d wooed the lass. Now he savored the prospect of bedding her.


Damn it, she’d made his cock rise to attention, his ballocks tighten in their sac the moment he’d found her struggling against the hold of two of Summerfield’s men-at-arms. Though at first she’d refused to identify herself, she’d obviously been no serving wench, for her garments had been much too fine. Now she stood before him, sleeves carefully removed from the white linen gown she wore beneath her plaid, young but ripe, rosy-cheeked and possessed of eyes the color of a stormy sea. Reddish-brown hair framed her face in a riot of curls. When she bent to pick up soap from the stool by the tub, her dark green MacFarlane plaid gaped, providing him an arousing view of the upper curve of small, firm breasts. His cock rose in salute. God’s teeth, but he wanted to fuck her, now. He cared not if she’d spoken true when she said she was Laird MacFarlane’s daughter. Whoever she was, she was his prisoner, ripe for plundering. His guest. Surety for the laird’s good behavior if he cared about her. He’d not been able to drag his gaze off the pretty maid from the moment he dragged her into his saddle and brought her home. The glint in her eyes when she looked at him was distinctly lascivious. She eyed him that way now as she stood in his bedchamber while he disrobed. Her velvety pink tongue darted out of her mouth as though she wanted to taste him. “I would have you bathe me first. Then I shall take my pleasure of you.” “Honor demands you protect my maidenhead.” Will didn’t feel it necessary to point out that there were many ways for man and woman to pleasure each other that did not involve stealing a maid’s virginity. If Lady Margaret still possessed it—which he doubted from the way she stared at the prominent bulge in his chausses as though she could barely wait to feel his cock piercing the channel between her long, slender legs. Sir William deVere was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Tall, powerful-looking, with golden skin and hair the color of a raven’s wing. His eyes, so dark they looked almost black, sparkled with good humor—and something more. In silvered chain mail, with a tunic of black and gold slung over his broad shoulder, and in the black chausses and simple tabard he’d just removed, he’d made her quim quiver. Just looking upon him now, watching his hard chest muscles ripple beneath that tawny sun-kissed skin while he untied the cross-garters that held up his braies, had her juices drizzling from the edges of the iron maiden she wore and down her inner thighs. That he was one of a matched pair seemed too good to be true. Lust practically stole Margaret’s reason when Will shot another dazzling smile her way. Did he wear jewels in his shaft, the way ‘twas rumored the earl did? She imagined the big knight’s cock pierced with glittering gold adornments much like the baubles she wore in her ears and quim. She’d find out soon enough what he looked like naked. As she moved closer to him and the huge oaken tub, the dangling clasp to her girdle swung back and forth against her mound, clinking melodically against her chastity belt and setting off a fierce need in her belly. One that would nay be satisfied as long as she wore the damned device. In truth, her maidenhead would be inviolate as long as the key remained securely locked in her sire’s strongbox at the seat of Clan MacFarlane. As long as they held her here as surety for her father’s continued good behavior. Still, Sir William could ease the aching in her breasts, the weeping of her cunt. And she had ways she could relieve his lust for as long as he held her hostage.


A willing prisoner she’d be, if she could entice Sir William into her lonely bed. No woman should have lost three betrothed husbands on the field of honor, or reached the ripe age of nineteen as yet unwed and unbedded, locked in a chastity belt to preserve her value as a marriage prize. She dropped down in a curtsy she knew provided him with a good view of her breasts, a glimpse of the pink areolae that ringed her aching nipples. “My lord, may I help divest you of the rest of your clothing?” “‘Rise, that I may see you. And you may see me.” No woman could resist him when he curled those sensual lips into a smile. Nor when he held out a callused, well-shaped hand to ease her up from her curtsy. When his gaze settled on her breasts, ‘twas as though he’d seared them with fire. He bent, lifting his loose black shirt over his head. When she took it from him, she smelled the scent of woman. Another woman. Jealousy bubbled up in her, but when she saw how the muscles in his glistening hairless chest rippled, she cared not that he’d slaked his lust on someone else since he’d held her in his arms on the long ride to Summerfield Castle yestereve. “I will remove the rest. I wish to sink into yonder tub ere the water cools.” The bulge of his sex caught and held her attention as it grew to massive proportions within his black knit chausses. She could not drag her gaze away. “Like what you see, my lady? My sword salutes your beauty. And protests my own neglect of its special needs during battle and on my journey home.” “You are—very large.” And she was very wet and becoming wetter by the moment. His laughing eyes mocked her, made her nipples tighten and tingle within her gown. “‘Tis a benefit in battle, my lady.” “I mean…” Sudden heat scalded her cheeks, and knowing her embarrassment must be evident turned her skin even hotter. “…your—” “Cock? Ballocks? Do not tell me a lady whose eyes look upon them with such obvious interest cannot say the words?” His amused look annoyed her. By the Lady she’d not let him intimidate her. She met and held his gaze. “Cock. Ballocks. They seem unusually large.” “The better to give you pleasure when we fuck, sweeting. Come, remove the last of my garments and you may see how hot and ready you’ve made me. Then I would have you join me in my tub.” She knelt, loosed the cross-garters that held his braies to hard-muscled, shapely calves. Then, slowly, she skimmed her fingers up the outsides of his rock-hard thighs…over narrow hips. Full of anticipation for what she’d discover, Margaret hooked her thumbs into the fabric on each side of his waist and tugged the stretchy material down. His cock sprang free, long, thick, and throbbing, curling gently upward toward his navel. The rumors about the lords of Summerfield apparently were true, for Sir William’s huge, throbbing rod had no foreskin. It bore a thick gold bar that passed horizontally through its purplish, plumlike head. A row of glistening gold balls winked all around the prominent corona, inviting her gaze, her touch. A pearly drop


of lubrication had already gathered in the slit at its tip. Margaret’s mouth watered with the need to taste that tempting liquid, to run her tongue along the long, thick column of his shaft and trace its distended, pulsating veins. His large pink seed sac made a luscious velvety cushion for the four pairs of ruby studs that marched down its center, and her fingers itched to caress that softness, to feel the cool smooth surface of the cabochon rubies in each end of the thick bar. “‘Tis a beautiful cock, indeed.” Leaning forward, intent on licking away that intriguing droplet of moisture, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why do you embellish it so?” “I am glad I please you, sweeting. As for the jewels, Gavin and I were each given a unique piercing as babes, and we chose to emulate our sire as we grew to manhood. An infidel prince had ordered him circumcised and pierced when he was captured as a youth.” He paused, lifting his stiff rod by the bar that passed through its head. “I was circumcised and pierced here, and a small bar was placed through my cock soon after our birth, so all might distinguish me from Gavin, who was pierced in the same way as our lord father. The bars were changed frequently for thicker, longer ones as I grew. Once I achieved manhood, I added additional jewels.” “Do the piercings not hurt you?” “Nay. They cause no pain once the wounds have healed.” “Your brother and father are pierced differently?” He held up his rod again, indicating that intriguing slit in its very tip. “They wear a captive ring that passes through this slit and exits on the underside of their cocks, just in front of the corona.” In truth, Margaret liked the glittering look of Will’s mighty sword. “Do the piercings enhance…?” “The jewelry is said to make lovers’ pleasure more intense. I can only vouch for the fact that it heightens my own sensations.” His hand on her head urged her forward, as though he wanted her to take him in her mouth. Then he pulled back. “Come, I would bathe first. Disrobe for me.” “I should not…” But his hot gaze scalded her, compelled her to loosen her golden girdle and lift off her plaid and the plain woolen gown beneath it. She stood in her shift, shivering not so much from the chill of the room as from her reluctance for him to see her shame—the prison far more confining than the luxuriously appointed solar here at Summerfield Castle where he’d ordered her to be held under guard. “I would see you. All of you.” He stood in the tub, water lapping about his muscular calves. His huge cock saluted her, rearing up from his hairless groin toward the ridged muscles of his belly. Its golden studs glowed in the candlelight, held her gaze. “Disrobe. Now, ere the water cools.” Perhaps since he removed his own pubic curls, he’d not mind that her own quim was bare as a babe’s, its fiery bush having been removed before her old nursemaid had fitted the rigid gold device between her stinging labia and locked the belt securely about her hips. Slowly, listening for his reaction, she lifted her shift, baring herself to the big knight’s lusty gaze. “You, too, are pierced.” His harsh intake of breath could have meant he liked what he saw…or that he did not. Only when she tossed away her garment and looked into his obsidian eyes did she know for certain. Sir William apparently welcomed a challenge—the challenge presented by the glittering gold device her father had ordered locked about her waist ere sending her to be captured by the powerful Earl of Summerfield. And the dangling clit ring that served as extra security against randy would-be


lovers. ‘‘Twill ensure you nay return with a deVere bastard in your belly, girl,” he’d said when she protested. Margaret was none too certain that was true when she saw the glint in Will’s dark eyes. Will chuckled. “I’ve yet to find an iron maiden that can defeat me, sweeting. Come, let us play in the bath.” “And if I do not wish to join you, my lord?” she asked as she stepped closer to his tub. He smiled, showing her straight white teeth and an inviting rose-pink tongue she could practically feel lapping at her pebbled nipples. “Then you must pay a forfeit. Know you not the rules of the game?” “What would you have of me? I possess naught but myself, not even an extra plaid to protect me from the chill in the night air.” “I wish a gift of gold.” His gaze settled between her legs, upon the golden ring that pierced her love button and held it out from a small round hole in the gold shield. “Perhaps I will take the one that pierces your tempting clit.” She moved to the tub and stepped onto the wooden stair, then paused so he could see. “‘Tis welded shut, my lord. If you want it, you must tear away my flesh as well.” Smiling, he slipped a finger through the dangling ring, tweaking the hard little nub and making more of her hot, slick honey slither down her thighs. “That would be a tragedy, my little one, to hurt such precious flesh as this. I could always summon my lord father’s armorer and have him break the weld. But I know many ways to give you pleasure. Ways that do not require that I remove this pretty ornament or the cruel device it helps to hold in place. We shall explore them all.” “But your pleasure, my lord? Would you let me satisfy you with my hands?” He reached further between her legs and ringed her puckered rear entrance with a callused fingertip. “You possess two other holes as well as your soft, gentle hands. I plan to make good use of them all. Come, join me. Help me scrub away the stench of the hunt.” As she stepped into the water she laughed, a tinkling, merry sound that went not with her stern Christian name. “I shall call you Meggie, for Margaret’s much too serious sounding for one as sensual as you.” God, but she made his cock stand at attention as few maidens could, his tastes having been jaded by serving girls who asked for naught but a quick fuck. Will stroked between her firm, silky legs, over the warm gold shield that left her pierced clit and puckered rear entrance unprotected, while it guarded the entrance to her sweet cunt. Her soft moan at his touch had his balls drawing up, tightening in their sac. With one finger he delved beneath the iron maiden and felt the base of a rigid metal plug that stretched and filled her cunt as only a man’s cock or tongue should do. “What is this?” “‘Twas my sire’s idea when he commissioned the device from the goldsmith in Edinburgh. To ready me for a man, he said.”


Will had always thought Laird MacFarlane a madman and thoroughly agreed with his lord father’s assessment that the man bore careful watching and would benefit from being skewered at the tip of some Summerfield steel. He couldn’t deny, though, that this particular one of the wily Scot’s ideas showed a certain fiendish cleverness. To restrain his daughter from fucking yet keep her hot and wet with the very device that prevented a lover from filling her cunt with himself, while incredibly cruel, had required intelligent thought. Such a device had possibilities in the torture chamber. Still, he could not imagine a father forcing such a cruel device on his own flesh and blood. “How long-” “Three years. Since he caught me pleasuring myself one dreary winter day. Twenty-eight days since the ring you seem to like so well was inserted, ensuring that no man can easily remove the device even if he should manage to break the lock.” A tempting proposition, to break that lock and take her fully! He’d do it, but first he’d teach her all the other pleasures he anticipated. Will rotated the clit ring, felt the weld that sealed it. The hole in the shield was too small to slide the ring through. Perhaps he could cut off the shield… Mayhaps he’d let it stay. Bring her and himself to climax without penetrating her tight glory hole. At least for now. Her sweet cream oozed from around the slender finger of gold, soaking his finger, perfuming the solar with the heady musk of man and woman and mutual arousal. Needing to taste her, he sank into the water, sitting cross-legged, the tip of his throbbing cock bobbing on the surface. “Spread your legs for me, Meggie. I would slake my hunger.” She stood, her feet planted on either side of his straining hips, her satiny labia held open by the chastity belt. The ring in her clit swung back and forth, tantalizing him, tempting his tongue. Her firm inner thighs glistened with her fragrant juices, juices that smelled like woman: slightly salty and a little bit sweet, with a hint of some precious perfume from the East. Will lapped her up, all the time toying with the clit ring and the tiny, rock-hard bundle of nerves it pierced. Gently he took that sensitive flesh into his mouth and suckled it, swirling his tongue around it then spearing it through the ring and tugging it beyond his lips, into the hot recesses of his mouth. God’s teeth, but she inflamed him. His balls throbbed painfully, as though they would burst if he didn’t gain release. With his hands, he stroked her, coaxing out more of the tiny whimpers and moans that began deep in her chest and made their way slowly out of her mouth and into his ears. She tasted like heaven and hell, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to rip off the cruel device she wore and fuck her until they both fainted from the pleasure. Instead he wet his fingers with her sweet honey and ran them around the puckered entrance to her ass. One finger slipped inside, then two. She tensed at what he guessed might have been an unfamiliar touch, then sighed. Her muscles relaxed, letting him sink his fingers into her rear entrance until his palm lay flush with the chastity belt. The water rippled softly about them, the fragrance of evergreens and herbs perfuming the air, mingling with the musk of her arousal. Her high-pitched, breathy little cries when he splayed his fingers inside her tight rear passage urged him on. His cock throbbed harder. God’s blood, how he needed to fuck her. To bury himself deep in her lush body, between her full red lips…within the tight, throbbing confines of her ass. As he drew her pierced love button deeper in his mouth, twisting its ring with his tongue, Will envied the


gold that kept her sopping cunt inviolate. Her juices flooded his hand when he worked a third finger up her ass and began to thrust slowly in and out. Her moans told him she was close…as close as he to losing control, finding the pleasure they both sought. He nipped her clit, then let it go and withdrew his fingers. “Turn around and kneel in the water. I want to fuck your pretty ass.” He came up on his knees, guided himself to her well-lubricated rear entrance, and grasped her hips. “Be not afraid, sweeting. I’ll go slowly, and you’ll love it. You’re wet. So wet. Have you ever taken a man’s cock like this?” She trembled but leaned back, letting his cockhead press hard against her puckered opening. “Nay. But do not stop.” When he pressed a bit harder, her flesh unfurled like a flower in spring, allowing his cockhead past the tight ring of muscle before contracting, squeezing him almost painfully as her body tried to expel him. The water lapped at his thighs and ass, its warmth surrounding his shaft, caressing her bare ass, wetting the gold belt about her rounded ass cheeks and making it glitter in the candlelight. God’s teeth, ‘twould be a miracle if he held out for long. His seed boiled up in his balls, threatened to erupt as he lowered her slowly, steadily, until her incredibly tight ass was fully impaled on his throbbing shaft. Her moans, louder now, bespoke pleasure-and pain. Pain he had no desire to exacerbate by moving. It took all his control to be still. Not to thrust and withdraw hard and fast until he exploded in a fiery climax. To keep from reaching around her and fondling her pretty, round breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers. He resisted nipping her slender neck with his teeth, instead bathing her nape with his tongue, soothing motions to make her forget the pain and renew her arousal. Her skin warmed, and her little whimpers intensified. God in heaven, he’d never before aroused a woman quite so easily. Her nipples stabbed at his palms when he cupped her breasts. Her tight ass gripped his cock almost painfully. The ungiving warmth of gold pressing on his seed sac reminded him of what he could not have, making him want even more to invade that sweet hole, fill it with his essence. “Oh, my lord. I ache.” “No more than I, my Meggie.” Will lifted her slightly, then lowered her again. He tried to concentrate not on the incredibly tight channel that gripped his cock but on the sensation of the wet, warm bath water sloshing over his thighs with every gentle motion he made. Her moans dissolved into breathy whimpers, and her nipples hardened further when he plucked them gently between his thumbs and forefingers. Pressure built in his balls, made them tighten and throb more as her ass contracted around him and her whimpers became entreaties for him to fuck her, relieve the need she could no longer ignore. In answer, he lifted her higher, brought her down hard on his throbbing shaft. Again and again, until she resisted his effort to withdraw and clamped down on his cock. “Oh, yesss. More, my lord. Oh God.” Her screams of satisfaction sent him over the edge, and he joined her with a shout of his own as hot semen erupted from his body in hard, fast bursts. “My lord?” she asked sleepily a few minutes later. “Does it feel this good with any man, or is it that what we just shared was special—that shining, breathtaking feeling the bards say come only between one man,


one woman?” “‘Tis special, Meggie. Very special.” For the first time in his twenty-one years, Will felt as though he might mean the reply he’d given countless lovers as a sop to their woman’s need to make something special of an act that was as natural as breathing.

Chapter Six

Evelyn surveyed the bountiful feast laid before them at the high table but doubted she could eat a bite. Would that she’d not been so impulsive. If she had resisted the urge to learn if Gavin would desire her, she and her betrothed might be laughing and teasing each other now, instead of sitting silently now. As it was, she worried that any minute he might lash out at her again as he had many times since discovering her unwise deception. Gavin’s twin seemed besotted over the Scots lass. The two seemed unable to keep their hands off each other. Now Will leaned over and spoke to Gavin. What did he say? Again Evelyn’s cheeks grew hot. Mayhaps she could distract Gavin ere he could remind her again of her transgressions. “My lord, I’d give you a token this day, the first of the Christmas season.” Frowning, Gavin turned to her, took the small gold key she handed him. “‘Tis a partridge etched upon a pear. Clever. I thank you, Madame.” He dropped it into the pocket of the black velvet tunic he wore—a rich garment with the deVere device embroidered in brilliant tones of gold, red and purple. “Do you not wish to know what it opens?” Evelyn asked. “I’m certain you will enlighten me when it suits your purposes. Here. Eat some of the swan. I’ve never liked it.” He paused, stared at her side of the silver plate they shared. “You’ve eaten hardly a bite.” “I’m not hungry.” How could she have been, when it was so evident she inspired naught but disgust in the man who last night had practically drooled over her when he’d thought her one of the castle’s whores. “Fret not. I’ll not waste away from missing one or two meals.” “I mind not that you’ve got healthy curves. Besides, I’d not have you sicken. For better or worse, you’ll be my wife. I’d have you healthy enough to bear my sons. Eat.” Because his tone did not invite disobedience, Evelyn picked up a leg of swan. The savory treat might as well have been stale bread for all the enjoyment she took from eating it. Later, while the Summerfield villeins trekked into the castle in small groups to pay their rents, partaking of mince pies and leftovers from the Christmas feast, Gavin directed the guests to sing, dance, and generally make a mockery of civilized rules of behavior. Evelyn loved it. He might hate her, but he had a


rather large cock and an obvious appetite for humor as well as fucking. Fortunately the merrymaking seemed to have taken the edge off his fury with her, or at least given him something more pleasant to do than ruminate about it. After Will whispered something to Gavin, Gavin turned to her. “On the morrow we will join the Boxing Day hunt. Lady Margaret and Will wish to join us for another round of carnal play. Do not think of demurring.” Evelyn’s cunt lips clenched, and her juices began to flow. “My lord—” “Save the protests, Madame. You’ve proven well that you like your lovers in pairs. Be in the hall to break the fast, prepared to ride.” He turned, but looked back at her when she laid a hand on his thigh. “Yes?” If he wanted to humiliate her, he apparently had found just the way to do it. The thought of parading naked before the lords and ladies of the castle made Evelyn cringe. “Please, do not say we are to fuck outside, where any member of the hunting party might ride by and see? My lord, if you care not for me, give a care to what will be said of you.” Gavin laughed. “While I’ve fucked whores against handy trees, that’s hardly what my lord brother and I have in mind for you. ‘Tis too cold to disrobe out of doors, so we will use a hunting lodge secreted deep within the woods. I’d not have all know I’m taking a whore to wife. Go on now. The ladies have long since retired to their beds, ‘tis time you do the same.” She’d been summarily dismissed, but she didn’t mind. On the morrow Evelyn would turn the tables on her arrogant future husband who saw no problem in his constant debauchery while he roundly condemned her for the only slip in her own ladylike behavior—the only one he knew about, in any case.

***** The morn of Boxing Day broke clear and cold. Perfect for a hunt. Evelyn drew her deep-blue cloak around herself when a blast of frigid wind swept through the bailey, but her nether parts were warm, already damp with anticipation. Gavin might be intending to humiliate her by forcing her to re-enact her performance as Evie, but truth be known, the idea aroused her. She supposed she should be scandalized at the way her nipples puckered and her quim twitched for her handsome betrothed and his identical brother. Mayhaps she was as he said, the veriest of whores disguised in a lady’s raiment. She watched from her vantage point on the stair to the great hall as Lord William dragged Margaret of Clan MacFarlane up before him in the saddle. Looking at the assembled horseflesh, she singled out the great black destrier as Gavin’s. Her own chestnut palfrey was nowhere to be found. Oh, no. Surely he did not intend to toss her up with him as his brother had the Scots wench. “Good morning, Evie,” Gavin whispered when he came up behind her and lowered her cape. His breath felt warm on her earlobe, exposed now to the chilly wind. “Do you not think it strange that a peasant wench would mount her own fine steed?” “I-I suppose.” His big hands grasped her at the waist. “You will ride with me. As my whore would do.”


Evelyn held her breath when he lifted her, but he tossed her up onto the back of his horse as though she weighed no more than a babe. Only the way his muscles bunched beneath his fingers hinted at the slightest strain. When he mounted behind her, his rock-hard cock throbbed against the crack of her ass. “We go first. They will follow.” Gavin then lifted his hand, and the herald blew his horn. The hunt had begun. Gavin wore no armor, only a leather gambeson Evelyn felt beneath the soft velvet of his tunic. When she leaned against his chest, the fabric caressed her cheek. And the bulk of his muscular body shielded her back from the wind. Her bottom ached from the enthusiastic loveplay during her role as Evie. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. More an arousing one. Her sire, were he alive, would not approve of the heat that bubbled in her belly or the strange light feeling she got in her belly when she looked upon her betrothed husband. She wished she knew whether he wanted her to be as wanton as she’d been as Evie, or if she should somehow demonstrate her loyalty by appearing uninterested in the sex play. Was he playing with her mind, enjoying her discomfort? What if she misread his signals, played the lady when expected the whore? Worse, what if she thought he wanted a wanton wench when he expected a highborn lady? Evelyn settled back against his massive chest, praying she’d make the right decision. Gavin led the party from the bailey, then dropped back to ride beside Will and the Scots lass once they’d clattered over the massive wooden drawbridge. The wind chilled her, but Gavin warmed her with his body heat. Evelyn held tight when he spurred his mount and distanced them from the crowd. “Were it not so cold, my wanton bitch, I’d be fucking you now. ‘Tis good, rocking in a woman while my warhorse rocks me.” “Surely you jest.” Gavin certainly would not fuck her before an audience of all in Lord Rolfe’s court. In front of his lady mother. Or would he? From the way he fondled her mound through her gown, Evelyn was none too sure. “Nay. I could put my cock in your sweet cunt and none would know but you…unless the pleasure was so great it would make you cry out for more. I warrant I can make you beg for it.” Just then three staccato notes burst out from somewhere behind them. “Evie.” Gavin’s deep voice poured over her like honey. Yes, she liked him calling her that, even though he did it to humiliate her, remind her of her sin. “Mmmm?” “The huntsman has cornered a boar. Wish you to be in on the kill, or shall we rest awhile in yonder hunting lodge?” Evelyn shuddered at the thought of witnessing the gory battle between man and beast. And she sensed he wanted her to opt for him, and sex. Briefly she considered saying she wished to watch the kill, but she wanted to please him more. “I want to be with you.” He pinched her nipple through the layers of her clothes, then bent and whispered in her ear. “And Will. Don’t forget Will. The one whose cock you took up the ass.” “Are you comfortable sharing your wife with your brother?


“As we shared our mother’s womb, we share everything.” “Everything, m’lord?” “Everything. And you like having two mouths, four hands on your body, caressing all your secret places. Two almost identical hard, randy cocks heating you, reaming your pretty mouth, cunt and ass, bringing you to pleasure beyond any you’ve known before.” ‘Twas wicked. Deliciously wicked. Evelyn’s cream flowed, drenching her slit and dampening her quivering thighs as Gavin guided their mount to the secluded lodge. “That it provided pleasure does not make what we did less wrong. In truth, I find it hard to imagine greater joy than you gave me before.” Difficult but not impossible. “How will I tell you and your brother apart? I swear, when I saw you both this morn I had no idea which one was you. Even though I’ve fucked with both of you,” she added before he could remind her of that shameful fact. “I guess you didn’t see us together, did you?” He laughed. “‘Tis said it’s impossible to distinguish us but by the piercings of our cocks, though I am a bit taller…and some of our lovers have noted, a mite larger in the ballocks. You’ll see the differences soon enough. I can tell by the sweet musk of sex that surrounds you that the idea of taking us both excites you.” Yes, it did, though Evelyn figured on rotting in hell for her wanton ways. Her nipples prickled in the morning chill when Gavin lifted her down from the saddle. “Come, we’ll not wait for my brother. I’m hot to fuck you now.”

***** “Quiet. ‘Twould seem Gavin’s not alone.” In truth Will was glad, for though he’d suggested the foursome to take his brother’s mind off Lady Evelyn’s deception, he was loath to share Meggie even with his twin. He also wondered at Gavin’s uncharacteristic ire, wondered if he might have been stung by the same jealousy that now had him considering ways to keep Meggie to himself. “Come, let us not make our presence known. I’d introduce you to the pleasure of watching…seeing others find their pleasure.” “His cock looks more than ready, m’lord. Is yours?” Boldly Meggie reached inside Will’s chausses, grasped his hardening shaft. “Oh, yes. ‘Tis wakening in my hand.” God’s truth, the wench would kill him if she didn’t stop rubbing her finger over his slit as she slowly rotated the thick gold bar that pierced his cockhead. “Cease, my sweet Meggie. I’d have you watch my twin and the buxom wench who sucks his cock so sweetly.” He delved beneath her skirt and tugged gently at the ring in her clit. “She strokes his ballocks. Look.” Meggie sounded excited as she described what she saw. “He likes it. Watch. His eyelids close. See how the sweat beads on his brow. I can practically feel him gasping for breath, fighting to hold in his seed. Watch. The wench torments him further.” Meggie gasped. “She put her finger up his bum, as ye did with me last night.”


“It brings him pleasure. See. His cheeks flush. He can no longer stay still. Watch. He pulls away.” Will pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and her honey gushed around the shield that imprisoned her cunt. “Like that, don’t you?” “Oh, yessss.” “Would you like to suck my cock?” “Here?” “Gavin would not mind. “ She squeezed his balls, shot him a saucy grin. “Did I suck yer cock, m’lord, I’d not be able to watch your brother fuck his wench.” “All right. I’ll suck your pretty clit, then, whilst you tell me all Gavin does to the fair Evie.” “Evie? Lady Evelyn? It sounds as though ye know her well.” Did Will not know better, he’d have said Meggie’d been bitten by the green-eyed monster of jealousy. Or…mayhaps she had. “Intimately.” Lowering his voice to a deep, soft rumble, he added, “Very, very intimately indeed. My brother and I made a fucking sandwich of her yestereve, ere I sent for you.” “M’lord?” He nuzzled her smooth mound with his nose, then met her gaze. “We fucked her the way I thought we’d do this day with you, sweeting. Me in her ass, Gavin in her mouth…and her tight, wet cunt. She’s not trussed up the way you are. I can tell imagining us fucking you in tandem makes you wet. Hot.” He stroked her clit, exerting pressure on the shield with its built-in dildo. “I’d taste your sweet honey now.” Will’s tongue snaked out, flailed her ringed clit. “Tell me, Meggie. What does my brother do now?” he asked, the vibration tickling her clit and making her strain to thrust her flesh back into his mouth. “He digs his fingers into the blond wench’s hair and draws her face to his. Oooh. Do not stop, m’lord. Now he takes her mouth with his own, as though he’s starvin’ to taste himself on her reddened lips.” She gasped as her cunt clenched, whimpering a little when Will pressed harder on her love button. “Yesss. That feels…so good. Makes me hot. Ye’ve got a magic touch.” He pulled away and blew on her swollen slit, sending shards of sensation down her quivering thighs. “Surely he doesn’t stop there. If he does mayhaps he needs my help.” “He needs nothing, I swear. Evie straddles Gavin now. She’s taking his big, beautiful ringed cock and stuffin’ it in her cunt. She moans and whimpers, as though she’s in delicious pain as she sinks on his shaft clear up to his balls. My God, the jewels in his ballocks are winking at us now from between her splayed thighs. His smooth pink ball sac glistens with her juices.” “You like looking at my brother’s balls? They’ll be tickling your asshole soon enough.” Reaching up, Will tweaked Meggie’s nipples, making her gasp with delight-and longing. “Go on. Surely they’ve not gone to sleep.” “Nay. He moves on her, harder and faster. Now he raises his body off her, cups her plump pale breasts.


Oh, yesss, my lord. Do not stop.” She paused, breathing hard as delicious sensations flowed through her aching body. “Now he takes them in his mouth. First one, then the other of her dark, distended nipples disappear between his lips. His cheeks draw inward as he sucks upon them.” What delight the wench must be experiencing. Meggie tried to imagine the pleasure she’d feel if she had Will’s huge, hard cock in her cunt and his soft, voracious mouth upon her less generous breasts. Her nipples tingled. Her clit felt as though thousands of tiny needles danced within its tight confines and collided with the warm metal of the ring that held it. Her asshole twitched, as though telling her it was ready to take what was forbidden to her dripping cunt. “Fuck me, m’lord. Rip away this cruel belt and put yer huge, hard cock inside me. I want what Sir Gavin’s lover now so obviously enjoys.” Will raised his head but stroked Meggie’s swollen slit with both his callused hands. “I’d not hurt you. Do you want it, I will summon the armorer and have him free you. If he does, though, you must pay me a forfeit.” “Anything.” “Wed with me. Wed with me knowing I intend to destroy Clan MacFarlane, make its lands my own. Give the rotting castle you call home to my brother, that he may have holdings within a day’s ride…that we may share you and share his bride as we’ve shared all since we were babes.” Will knew the price he asked was high. He realized full well that Meggie had likely been sent to spy on Summerfield. Still his blood boiled for the hot-blooded Scots lass. Nothing kept him from making a match for himself, now that his betrothed had died of a fever nearly a year ago. “What say you? Would you be my English baroness now, and someday my countess, pray God that time comes not for many years?” “You would slay my sire?” “Not apurpose. I’d chase him back to the highlands from whence he came.” Meggie looked up at Will. “I canna ask more than that of ye, m’lord. Yes, if I be what you want, I’ll be yer bride.” “Good. I’ll order our priest to waive the banns, and we can wed and share the bridal bed with Gavin and his heiress. ‘Tis what we’ve planned for all our lives-two compliant wenches to fuck us, together as well as separately.” “God forgive me for it’s a heinous sin, but the thought of having ye both take me makes me hot and wet. I want ye so much it scares me.” “When we return to the castle, I will find the armorer.” Will knelt at Meggie’s feet and ran a finger under the shield of the gold belt. Carefully, he slipped it inside her dripping cunt beside the tongue-like plug. “He will remove this. ‘Twill be your gift of gold to me this holiday season. Do you wish it, you may reinsert the ring and he can weld it shut. I wager it gives you great pleasure.” “Yes. As I imagine your jewels bring you joy.” She stroked the length of his rod, tugging gently at each paired stud, grasping the jeweled ends of the thick bar and rotating them. Shards of intense pleasure


began where metal touched flesh and spread cell by cell throughout his body. Lubrication pooled in the slit in his cockhead when she played with his balls. “Why do ye remove yer body hair?” “To enhance my pleasure. Why do you remove yours?” “To keep it from tangling in the iron maiden, or so thought my nursemaid when Da presented her with the device. I am sorry—” “Do not be. I wish you always to keep your sweet slit smooth for me. Come, sit on my lap. I’d bring you to a climax for the last time ere I show you the ultimate woman’s pleasure. Lift your gown, that I may fondle your pretty breasts whilst I bury my cock in your tight, hot ass.” Will wet his hand with Meggie’s hot, slick cream, then rubbed it over his cock. Positioning himself, he let her down inch by inch. Incredible tightness. Heat. Her rear entrance grabbed him, milked him, sucked him in until his balls rested against the puckered rosebud of her ass. When he reached under her gown and tugged on the hard nubs of her nipples, her breathy little whimpers nearly made him come. His gaze locked with his brother’s as Evie bobbed up and down on Gavin’s cock. Gavin smiled. “A sandwich with two layers, my brother?” Will asked Gavin, and Meggie gave a breathy little laugh. “Plow her well, for in but three more days you’ll take her for your bride.” Evie let out a scream, and Will watched Gavin’s eyelids close. The look of ecstasy on his face, and the jerking movements of her buxom body above his twin, had Will ready to burst within Meggie’s tight rear. As ready to burst as he sensed that she was. Her heart beat fast and hard beneath his fingers. She clamped down on his cock with strong inner muscles, as if she’d never let him go. Her whimpers gave way to breathy moans of impending satisfaction, and her body trembled. Her slick wet honey drenched his balls and his thighs when he rocked beneath her and buried his cock to the hilt. Her climax sent him over the edge, and he felt his seed building, then spilling, scalding his cock within the tight confines of her rear passage.

***** His lust sated, Gavin was feeling mellow toward his wanton betrothed. He could have as easily been stuck with a withered prune of a woman. Instead, he was about to gain a wife he loved to fuck. One it would be a pleasure to get his heirs on. Still naked, he lay back on the cushions by the fireplace in the hunting lodge and watched Evie gather her garments that he’d strewn about in his haste to get to her pale, generous flesh. He liked her alabaster skin, the full curves of her breasts and buttocks, the roundness of her belly that cushioned him, keeping her hipbones from digging into his flesh the way skinny women’s did. Her smile warmed him, whether they were fucking or sitting at the high table before his family and their retainers. The demeanor the jongleur had seen as haughty, Gavin read as the mark of a strong chatelaine who’d keep his castle folk in line, thus keeping him comfortable and well-fed. Evie didn’t hesitate to speak her mind, but she did so with good humor and consideration for those who served her. And by God’s bones he loved burying his cock in her soft, tight cunt. Loved pleasuring her and taking pleasure in her. That alone made him content with his bride. He raked her with an approving gaze, glad


she apparently had no worries about him seeing her as God had made her. Gavin liked that, too. The only thing he didn’t like was the thought of sharing her with men other than Will. ‘Twouldn’t happen. He’d keep her so stuffed with his cock that she’d be too weary to even think of straying. And if he had to go away, he could always confine her in one of the castle’s three towers. All in all, Gavin was content. He could have done worse. Much worse. Instead he’d been given a wanton bride who made his blood boil, and rich lands to rule. Returning Evelyn’s smile, he reached for his own clothes and started to dress. Suddenly he was anxious to get on with the revelry of the season—and the celebration of his wedding. Will’s too, he’d wager from the protective way his brother had treated the MacFarlane lass. Two hot-blooded brides for the brothers to share—though for the first time in his life, Gavin was feeling a hint of need to keep this one woman for himself alone. He shrugged off that emotion as a result of the afterglow of a good fucking—no, a great one, the best he could recall ever having enjoyed. ‘Twas the enthusiastic whore in her that he lusted after, but he found he was also coming to like the fine widow lady who was to become his bride. “Come, my hot sweet wanton, we must return to Summerfield and resume our roles as prospective bride and groom, ere we are missed.”

Chapter Seven

Later that afternoon the yule log crackled in the fire, its sap perfuming the air with a clean, woodsy scent. The serfs came in groups, and straggling one by one, to claim their gifts from the earl and countess. Giggling maidservants hung fresh garlands of mistletoe about the hall, while the older housemaids served honey cakes and the earl’s finest wine to the family and their guests. After they sat to partake of the evening meal, Lord Rolfe lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “To my heir, Sir William, and the woman he’s chosen for his own. May they have the joy I’ve found with my Jasmine…the prosperity God has granted Summerfield…a long life together and many sturdy sons.” Gavin lifted his cup to toast his brother, genuinely happy that Will had made a love match. He glanced at his own betrothed, full of pride in her with her fine garb and pretty manners, yet sad in a way that he’d fallen in love not with her but with the bawdy castle whore she’d portrayed—the Evie he couldn’t acknowledge in noble company—Lord of Misrule or not. Evelyn spoke cordially with his lady mother about some boring household crisis while all Gavin wanted to do was lift her skirts, put her on his lap, and fuck her until she screamed. Mayhaps he’d do that once they wed—and once they went to live on her property a day’s ride distant.


Gavin fingered the gift she’d bestowed on him this night—a matched pair of turtle doves beautifully crafted of gold, their beaks hinged and poised to clamp down upon his nipples—or hers. The two were joined by a finely wrought chain. “I’d try these on your tits tonight,” he whispered once the carolers began to sing. “They’re for you, not me. Would you like for me to—” “No.” He had the feeling the bite on his nipples would flow straight to his cock, and he’d be hard as stone and hurting ere he could possibly retire for the night. With her. Strangely, neither Mavis nor any of the other wenches he’d bedded held much appeal, compared with his buxom Evie. Evelyn. His betrothed.

***** Two days hence, Gavin tossed Will the latest gift. Evelyn’s maid had delivered it moments earlier: a cleverly made cock cage bearing four golden bands, each etched with a calling bird upon a perch. The pear-shaped partridge key she’d given him on Christmas Day fit easily into the tiny lock on the device. As with the nipple clips, the cage was a fine piece of goldsmithing. Damn, he’d thought the series of provocative toys had been broken yestereve when Evelyn had served him three plump roasted guinea hens for their evening meal. “Tomorrow ‘twill be five gold rings she gives you,” Will commented while making a show of examining the cage and the heavy gold chains that would lock it to the wearer’s body. “Pray God the rings do not fit throughthis. ” “True.” Will looked again at the golden cage, laughed. “Mayhap she intends to fuck with me whilst you watch. Or…” That would happen over Gavin’s dead body. He’d share, but he wouldn’t sit idly and watch another man fuck Evie, even if it was his twin brother. “Begone with you. Go to the armorer and have him cut away the iron maiden that keeps you from your lady’s cunt. Then you will have something to occupy yourself other than tormenting me.”

***** The fifth day of Christmas. A holy day of celebration for all, what should have been a joyous day at Summerfield. A feast fit for King Henry himself. Gavin lounged at the high table, a jeweled coronet perched precariously upon his head, a joint of venison held high like a scepter in one large, powerful hand. Evelyn smiled at her handsome raven-haired bridegroom, glancing past him to his identical twin and the MacFarlane lass, now Lord William’s bride. The yule log crackled cheerily in the huge fireplace, warding off the chill from a cold, damp wind that howled beyond the castle walls. The air of gaiety that prevailed


in the hall didn’t extend to her, for her husband’s last order had cast a pall on her enjoyment of the wedding festivities. Her cheeks still burned when she recalled his words moments earlier. “A joyous day indeed. Drink a toast to two brides for me and Will, one blond and buxom, the other slender with hair of flames. One bedding. ‘Tis my order as Lord of Misrule. As we’ve shared all else, so my lord brother and I will share the women we’ve wed this night.” Lady Jasmine had gasped before consulting with Lord Rolfe and composing her beautiful face into a smile. The Summerfield knights and men at arms had let out with cheers and all manner of ribald comments. Meggie had blushed prettily and whispered something that made her husband grab her for a long, public kiss. Gavin had merely raised his joint of venison and swigged another goblet of wine. Jongleurs, ropedancers, and minstrels vied for his approval, for as Lord of Misrule, his word was law. None dared to defy him, not even Evelyn, who despite her embarrassment looked forward to the public bedding that would come ere long. “Wine, more wine for all!” Gavin’s voice rang out over the sensual sounds of lutes and harps, sweet voices of the wandering minstrels. “We await th’ bedding, m’Lord of Misrule!” exclaimed Alex, Will’s squire. Gavin clapped his hands. “Then wait no more, my friends, for my cock is randy, my bride ripe for the plucking. I wager Will’s as ready as I to sow his seed. Will?” “To the bedchamber, ladies. We will soon follow.” Gavin turned to Will after the women guests had dragged their brides away. “What did your fair lady gift you with this day?” “A gift of gold. Her maidenhead, bared for the taking. For locking her in that wicked device, Laird MacFarlane deserves to die of apoplexy at the news that his one surviving bairn now belongs to his sworn enemy. With what did your bride present you?” “As you predicted. Five gold rings.” A signet ring bearing the fitzSimmons device, two identical rounded gold bands for his forefingers…and the fourth and fifth, smooth circular rings too wide for any of his fingers yet not wide enough to span his wrists. “The MacFarlane knows not of the marriage?” Gavin had watched a contingent of armed knights and men ride out the day before, to carry the news of the upcoming nuptials about the countryside. He’d assumed the countryside included the rotting MacFarlane keep that lay a stone’s throw across the contested border. “‘Nay. The party rode out yesterday to ensure peace for this day’s festivities. The news of my marriage to Meggie, I thought to impart personally, after we consummate our vows. Come, my brother, it is past time we did our husbandly duties.” Gavin drained the rest of his fine red Flemish wine. “Come. We must not keep our women waiting.”

*****


Meggie tossed back her flaming locks, met Evelyn’s gaze. “What troubles ye, milady?” “Only that it suits me not, to be mounted like a prize mare for all to see.” At the sound of heavy footsteps on the solar stair, Lady Evelyn struggled to arrange her hip-length blond locks. ‘Twas a poor job they did, hiding her pale, plump form from view—but she had naught better, for the ladies who attended them had vanished with all their garments. She spared a glance at Meggie, who seemed not to care that her compact tits and ass were in plain view of all who might wish to see. Despite the warmth of the fire, Evelyn trembled. Not from fear. God knew she’d done this before. She’d spread her legs for all to see and flushed with embarrassment when old Baron fitzSimmons had hoisted the bloody sheets and proclaimed his ownership of her person. Proclaimed his manhood for all to see. Ha. Manhood indeed. The rutting old bastard had cared naught for her pleasure, only his own. At least the new man her estates had bought her knew how to wield his jeweled cock. And gave every appearance of loving to wield it on her. As did his identical twin, the Scotswoman’s eager bridegroom. Evelyn would take part in this pagan ritual, the joining of two men, two women. Truth be known, she’d enjoy once again experiencing the twin lovers stuffing her every orifice, bringing her to pleasure. What she’d not like one bit was watching her husband dipping his randy wick in his brother’s young bride. ‘Twould make her blood boil to see Gavin caressing Meggie while her own soft flesh craved his mouth, the touch of his callused fingertips. Mayhaps…the cock cage should remain. He’d not fuck her, but then he couldn’t fuck Meggie, either. He could only arouse them with his tongue, his hands. Nay, ‘twould never do. Evelyn could never more forego the incredible fullness that came with having that cock stuffing her cunt, spurting its hot seed deep into her womb. ‘Twas good Gavin held the key, for he’d certainly dispense with that gift without delay if indeed he’d chosen to honor her gift by wearing it ere they wed. Evelyn glanced again at Lord William’s bride, trying not to compare their bodies but failing miserably. Her husband had gained a plump widowed pigeon, two years his senior, while his twin possessed an auburn-haired beauty still fresh and ripe for picking. Knowing she’d bought her bridegroom with land and titles did little to quell the sense of inadequacy that gripped Evelyn. Nothing to squelch the growing reluctance to share her man with one so fair and lovely. They came. ‘Twas not the time for trembling like an untried girl, which she certainly was not. Instead she’d pour out her growing feelings for Gavin in her touch, her kisses. In her enthusiastic participation in the ritual that meant so much to him and Will. With a deliberately lascivious expression, Evelyn raked her husband’s and his brother’s naked bodies with undisguised interest. Mirror images, each tall and strong, each bearing bride-gifts in identical casks clad in gold and set with precious stones, Gavin and Will stood before Evelyn and Meggie, as naked as when they left their mother’s womb but for the winking jewels in their cocks. Laughing, jesting knights and men-at-arms shouted bawdy suggestions as they ogled the brides their lord’s eldest sons had taken this day. Gavin’s cock stood at attention, the glittering ring in its head glowing in the candlelight, its magnificent shaft encased in the cage Evelyn had ordered fashioned to ensure his faithfulness. Jewels winked at her from the studs that passed through his corona. Will’s cock sparkled, too. He lacked the cage and the ring passing through his slit. Instead he had a jewel-crowned bar that entered the head of his swollen phallus on one side and emerged on the other. Accouterments Evelyn hadn’t noted the other night when he’d introduced himself by kneeling at her back and plowing her ass with his big, hard sword.


Mmmm. Taking them both at once had given her a heady rush…a climax the likes of which she’d never known before. Still… Sir Gavin was her husband, bought and paid for. Share him with Will’s bride? By God, only on her terms! Evelyn dragged her gaze from Meggie’s husband, settled it upon her own. “Like you what you see?” she asked him, taking care to look him in the eye. Hoping not to read longing for the fair Meggie there. “Yes, wife. Sweep back the pale curtain that hides your bounty from my eyes. I’d see all of you. I’d have Will view your bounteous charms as well. ‘Tis only fair, for I can plainly see his bride.” Vowing she’d not be stung by the inevitable comments some of the drunken guests would make about her girth, Evelyn did as Gavin bid, sweeping her pale locks over one shoulder, revealing her heaving breasts, her rounded belly and generous thighs. Her cunt creamed at the thought of once again becoming the filling in a sandwich fuck, taking two hard bodies, two rigid cocks pounding her ass, her cunt. She wanted them both and yet…having them would mean she’d have to watch whilst Gavin joined Will in fucking the Scots maid. Nay. She’d wed with Gavin. She’d have him to herself. His hungry eyes swept over her, swept the expected catcalls and insults from her mind. ‘Twas no doubt about it. For all that her lord husband might chide her for having deceived him, he found her desirable. Even now his caged cock stood in salute not for his brother’s beautiful bride, but for her. Meggie looked at Evelyn, then shifted her gaze back to Will. Sweeping back her titian curls, she stood proudly, smoothly naked before his appreciative eyes. “Come, if ye see no flaws in me. I’d have ye consummate this marriage, fill the aching empty sheath between my thighs. I’d have ye first ere ye share me wi’ yer bonny brother.” “I, too, would have my husband’s fine cock all to myself ere we share.” Evelyn reached out and caught Gavin’s cock ring with one finger. “I see you chose to wear my gift. I like it.” Gavin glanced down at his trussed-up flesh and grimaced. “I do not, my lady.” He tossed her the golden key. “I order you to remove it so we may get on with the business of fulfilling the vows we’ve made. As your husband, Madame, notwithstanding the fact I’m also Lord of Misrule.” Evelyn watched Will scoop Meggie easily up in his arms and toss her on the huge marriage bed. When they began to fuck, she averted her gaze. The men crowded in the solar doorway cheered. Evelyn hated it—the ritual bedding, the splitting asunder of a virgin bride by her husband while a drunken horde of his men watched and shouted ribald suggestions. Fuckfests were well and good when all participated. Not when some watched and shouted obscenities at the participants. “Send the observers away, husband, and I will remove it. Then we may get on with the bedding. I’m no virgin whose blood need be attested to.” Gavin stepped closer, cupped her chin in his hand. The smile he bestowed on her surrounded her with warmth, like a velvet robe. “But I am a man whose cock has been caged by his lady. I’d have witnesses to its removal.” Agreeing that made sense, she knelt and fumbled with the tiny lock. For a moment Meggie’s little cry distracted Evelyn, but she persevered. The crowd’s cheer resounded in her ears when she knelt and


unlocked the cage from Gavin’s cock and balls. When she slid it off, she saw he’d discovered the use for the two largest rings she’d gifted him with today. The largest ringed his cock and ballocks, while the smaller encircled the base of his huge, swollen cock. “I stand ready to bring you pleasure, my lady wife,” he told her as a cheer went up from the assembled men. “Watch…” Gavin raised Evelyn to her feet, then lifted her in his arms. He strained a bit, but steadied himself quickly and strode with her to the marriage bed. “Spread your legs, madame, that I may fuck you for our guests’ pleasure. Then I will order them away and the fuckfest may begin.” Evelyn’s cream flowed heavy despite her embarrassment at the prospect of taking her husband’s huge ringed cock before the drunken wedding guests. When Gavin knelt between her legs and sank slowly into her cunt, he looked her in the eye. “All right, my friends. The Lady Evelyn is mine in deed as well as words, as is Lady Margaret now my brother’s true wife. As Lord of Misrule, I order you all to seek your own beds. Prepare for more festivities on the morrow!” Gavin’s voice rang out, his authority unquestionable. “Thank you, my lord.” “You are welcome. I’d not cause you discomfort, but our guests demanded that they be allowed to bear witness to our joining.” Bracing his upper body on his elbows, he bent and brushed her lips with his own. “They are leaving now. And they’ll not return.” Evelyn brushed a lock of dark hair off her husband’s forehead. “I beg your forgiveness for my deception, Gavin. I’d not have it cast a pall on our marriage.” “‘Tis all right, sweeting. ‘Tis my pleasure to have found a bride who takes pleasure in the marriage bed. One who keeps my cock stiff and ready any time she’s near.” He laid his head on Evelyn’s breast and drew a nipple into his mouth. As he rocked in and out of her dripping cunt, she grew hotter and wetter with each stroke. “Oh yesss. Fuck me harder. Please.” Her clit tingled every time Gavin ground his hips and brushed it with the rigid base of his cock. God’s blood, but having him fuck her like this—as though his whole mind centered on her—made her every reaction more intense. Hotter. Vaguely her mind registered that Will was also moving on Meggie, his rhythm in perfect harmony with Gavin’s. Meggie’s little whimpers triggered her own ecstatic moans as the pressure built in her cunt, began spreading…bursting…blinding her with its intensity. Oh God in heaven, she was dying. Scalding waves of the most intense pleasure she’d ever known washed over her, made her gasp for breath. Was that her scream? Or Meggie’s? Evelyn was past thinking. Past anything but savoring the exquisite pleasure that flowed from Gavin’s pulsating cock in her cunt, consumed her in a burst of delicious sensations. His shout, and the hard bursts of his seed into her womb set off yet another wave of intense pleasure…


***** As the sun rose, illuminating the tower room he’d shared with Will since they left the nursery, Gavin lay between his wife and Will’s. His cock throbbed in Meggie’s mouth while he feasted on Evelyn’s creamy cunt. The ruby-glass plug in her ass shone in the sunlight. At this moment he couldn’t figure why he’d been so angry at her deception. Why it had taken so long for him to realize what a jewel he now possessed. God’s nightshirt, but he’d been given a prize. Ripe and buxom and hot-blooded as hell. Not to mention that she’d elevated him from knight to lord with the saying of their vows. On top of that, Gavin liked his bride. Enjoyed being with her outside their bedchamber as well as in it. Yes, he was one lucky man. Wanting to hear her scream with pleasure, he sucked her swollen clit between his teeth and flailed it with his tongue. Will had her mouth, tongue-fucking it the way he’d tongue-fucked Meggie’s earlier. Now Meggie sucked his cock, tangling her tongue in the ring when she licked the drops of lubrication from it. The way she clutched his ass cheeks, digging in with her nails while Evelyn held onto his waist, drove him wild. When Will plowed Meggie’s cunt, she moved her mouth in that same rhythm on Gavin’s cock. Gavin plunged his tongue deep into Evelyn’s cunt, savored her cream. His balls tightened as Meggie sucked him harder, deeper. “My God, Meggie. I’m cominggg!” Will shouted. Meggie clamped down on Gavin’s cock, her whimpers reverberating on his distended flesh. He gasped at the delicious sensation, half withdrew the dildo from Evelyn’s sweet ass and plunged it back in, hard, while he latched onto her clit with his mouth and sucked hard. The first waves of his climax shook him. Shook them. Hot, hard jets of semen bounced off Meggie’s throat, making her swallow. That motion triggered more spasms, more come. As Meggie swallowed the last of his come, Evelyn screamed out her pleasure. And Will collapsed onto Meggie, pressing her skinny body into Gavin’s while he wrapped his arms about his wife’s quaking thighs. “Damn it, Will, roll over. Hold your wife and let me hold mine.”

***** “‘Twill be the last time we all four share each other, I vow,” Gavin told Evelyn later as she lay with him after Will and Meggie had left the room. “Why, my lord husband? I find sharing exhilarating.” “Because I’d honor my vows?” The smile he gave her nearly took her breath away. “Nay. ‘Tis that I’m greedy. I’d have my beautiful, buxom bride all to myself. Think one man can see to all your carnal needs, love?” He called her “love”. Did he mean it? Dared she admit she loved him, too? “We shall see, husband. May I assume you’ve truly forgiven me for my little deception on Christmas Eve?”


“I forgave you days ago.” He looked at her, merriment and mischief showing in his dark eyes, his quirky grin. “I think, though, you need a lesson, so you won’t try to deceive me again. Rise. Fetch yon riding whip from atop my trunk. I’ll punish you now, and the deed will be hence forgotten.” Her milky ass cheeks felt soft as silk to Gavin as he positioned her across his thighs to take her punishment. “So pretty. So soft. Pity to turn them red and sore.” Reluctantly, for he hated to hurt his love, he raised and lowered the crop once…twice…three times. Welts stared up at him, made him cringe at the thought he was hurting her. “More. Punish me more, my lord.” He hit her again, harder this time. She yelped, but begged him to continue. Shifting the crop to his other hand, he reached between her legs, felt her honey flowing. “Mayhaps I’ll use this in our loveplay since you like it so well.” “Oh, yesss. Please fuck me now. Fuck me hard and well.” Slowly he slid her onto the bed, face up, sliding between her thighs and looping her legs over his shoulders. “With pleasure. And with love. Open to me, wife, I’d fill you with my seed.” Evelyn sighed. “And with love. Always with love.” After she came, after she’d wrung the last drop of seed from his exhausted cock, Evelyn rolled onto her side and cupped his face between her soft hands. “I love you, too, my husband. Forever.”

Epilogue Summerfield Castle, Christmastide, 1179

‘Twas Christmas Eve, a time for prayer and celebration—and revelry about to be presided over by his third son Henry, just knighted by his uncle ere he came home for the holiday. Earl Rolfe stretched his long legs before him, wondered if fourteen years hence he’d be having an iron maidens fit on Alisa, who now tugged on his knee, begging for a ride. Just yesterday he’d caught Henry and Alfred fucking with a willing serf girl in the hunting lodge their brothers used to use for some of their debauchery. Rolfe stared into the flame, his mood reflective. Two years ago today he’d given Jasmine the daughter they’d wanted for years. Two years ago this blessed season, Gavin and Will had taken brides. And nearly two years ago, once the Epiphany had passed, they’d rid the northern marches of the scourge of Clan MacFarlane. “Papa?”


“Yes, sweeting.” Though he loved all his children, his little girl held a special place in his heart. “Play wif’ nef…” “You want to play with your nephews? Ask your nanny to take you to them.” Rolfe imagined his young namesake, just three months old, was partaking of nourishment from his mama’s now-bounteous breasts, and that Gavin’s twins would be wakening from their naps. “Run along now. I’d spend some time alone with your mama ere we go to the hall for the noontide meal.” “The season has her excited beyond all,” he told Jasmine when she joined him on the settle before the fire. “Happy Christmas, my love.” “Yes. ‘Tis happy indeed to have everyone home…and to know Gavin will be moving within an hour’s ride once he rebuilds that rockpile Meggie’s sire once called a castle.” Rolfe stroked Jasmine’s thigh, as firm and slender now as it had been years ago when he took her as his leman and then his bride. “You cannot wait to have his twins nearby to spoil, as you spoil Will and Meggie’s now. Admit it.” “All right. I do want them close to spoil them. But also so I may see how well the match you made for Gavin has turned out. It makes me happy to know it’s not property but love that keeps a smile on my boy’s face.” “‘Tis strange. Motherhood has slimmed Evelyn while it’s fattened Meggie.” His cock twitching as he inhaled Jasmine’s familiar scent, Rolfe slid his hand higher, caressed her slit through the layers of her shift and gown. “They change, whilst you bear my babes and stay as lovely as you were the day we met.” Turning into his embrace, Jasmine laughed. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, love. It warms me to know you see me now as I was then—even though my reflection in the garden pool tells me otherwise. Come, let me show you how much I love you…how much I love how you love me.” Later, sated and content, Rolfe and Jasmine lay among the furs in their cozy bed. “Rolfe?” “Yes, sweeting.” He turned his head, met her sapphire gaze. “I wonder if our twin sons still share each other’s wives.” “What?” He’d explained their wedding night away as a one-time ritual understandable for brothers who’d shared their mother’s womb. “I’ve known since they weren’t much older than Henry is now.” She ran a teasing finger down his chest, stopping to tweak the rings in his nipples ere moving on to stroke his jeweled cock. “That ended the day after their weddings, I believe. Like me, our sons seem content with the women they married.” “I suppose now all we must do is worry about Henry and Alfred,” she said, cupping his balls and giving them a gentle squeeze. Rolfe laughed. “I fear our worries about them will be naught, compared with what we’ll face with Alisa


when the time comes. ‘Tis no way she can be her parents’ daughter and not give us a trial.” “Mayhaps you should marry her off ere she’s out of nappies, then.” “Or mayhaps not. I welcome the challenge of keeping our daughter from the hands of lechers like our sons.” He noticed Jasmine’s grin, decided to say it before she could. “And like me.” “Thank God, like you. We’d best rise and see to our family and guests. Rolfe, I love you now as I’ve loved you for twenty-four long years.” “I, too. I pray we’ll have as many more.”

About the author:

Whether she's writing as Ann Jacobs, Sara Jarrod, or herself, Ann Josephson loves sexy, Alpha heroes and heroines who are every bit their matches. A transplanted midwesterner, she has lived in Florida practically all her adult life. She spent several years as a health care financial manager before becoming a full-time author in 1996, shortly before the release of her first book, Heaven Above, a Berkley contemporary ghost romance. Her highly acclaimed books have been translated into at least six languages. One was optioned for a movie, and three will be reissued this year in hardcover editions. A member of Romance Writers of America, TARA chapter and Kiss of Death chapter, Ann also belongs to the Authors' Guild and is the treasurer-elect of Novelists, Inc. A regular speaker at local and regional writer events, she was part of a workshop panel at RWA's national conference in July 2002.

Ann welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also by Ann Jacobs:


·

A Mutual Favor

·

Awakenings

·

Black Gold: Another Love

·

Black Gold: Dallas Heat

·

Black Gold: Firestorm

·

Black Gold: Love Slave

·

Captured with Carroll Mavis-Raine

·

Colors Of Magic

·

Gates of Hell

·

He Calls Her Jasmine

·

Lawyers In Love 1: In His Defense

·

Lawyers In Love 2: Bittersweet Homecoming

·

Enchained with Jaid Black (Lawyers In Love 3: Mastered)

·

Lawyers In Love 4: Getting’ It On

·

Love Magic

·

Mystic Visions

Writing as Sara Jarrod

Haunted

A Gift of Frankincense


Cassie Walder

Author’s Note

Hepburn Hall is a product of the author’s imagination, as are many of the people you will meet in this tale. To the best of my knowledge, there never were any Earls of Solway. That title is fictional. There were DeVeres, most notably the Earls of Oxford. That line is now extinct as I understand. The DeVere family depicted here are utterly fictional. Garrick and Hepburn are old and honorable names. But, Rob Garrick had no life outside of the imagination of the author. What is true is most of the history. This particular period of history was a time of great social and political upheaval. King Charles I had been tried and charged with waging war against his own people, and beheaded by the Rump Parliament. England went from a monarchy to a republic then to a monarchy in everything except name, under Oliver Cromwell as Lord Protector of England. This tale is set in the last year of Cromwell’s rule as Lord Protector. After his death, the monarchy was restored. All of the poets quoted were published before or during 1657, the date of this tale.

Enjoy this Gift of Frankincense.

Cassie Walder

Chapter One


Lady Anne DeVere Hepburn, Countess Solway, worked in her stillroom at Hepburn Hall on the afternoon Monday, 23 November 1657. But her mind was on the royal command she had received from the hands of a messenger early this morning. It was outrageous that her rightful king would command her to wed, bed, and then to abuse the trust of Sir Robert Garrick, M.P. by becoming a spy in his household. Oh, he hadn’t phrased it quite that coarsely, but that was what the royal command had meant. Mary Morris and Bertha Davies, her stillroom maids, were working beside Anne. Mary said, “There are just too many of the tenants sick. We can’t keep up.” “We have to,” Bertha replied, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Lives depend on us.” As Bertha and Mary compounded medicines to let people breathe more easily, Anne poured bottles of homemade elderberry wine into a large crock over fever reducing herbs. By tomorrow, she would be able to bottle this tonic wine. “I haven’t seen any fever like this since His Lordship and the wee ones died, almost ten years ago,” Mary observed. Then Bertha and Mary exchanged looks as they waited for Her Ladyship’s reaction. “That is true,” Anne answered. She had been alone for too many years. There were times that she desperately longed for a man in her life, in her arms, in her bed. She thought often of remarrying, or even though scandalous, of taking a lover or maybe two, even having fantasized of three of them in her bed at once. Accidentally, once, she had been witness to two of the footmen, James and John Kinnet, making love to one of the maids, Betty Douglas, in the cold pantry. Anne had been too shocked at the time to move or even to reveal her presence to them. She had stood, concealed in the shadows, watching the three of them enjoy one another in ways that Anne had until that time never even dreamt that men and women could enjoy one another. Their private orgy had gone on for what seemed like hours. That memory had become for Anne the fuel of her own late night fantasies. In her fantasies, she had put herself in the place of young Betty, having a man loving her quiff with his lips and tongue while taking another man’s quimstake into her mouth, using her mouth as a substitute for her quiff. And then that fantasy shifted to one in which a man lay beneath her on a floor with his hard quimstake inside her hot and wet quiff while she knelt, her legs astride him, the other man standing and fucking her mouth while he caressed her breasts. Yet, that had been only the beginning of the adventures as the positions changed again and again going through what Anne considered every possible way of men loving a woman. Those fantasies had kept her warm during many cold winter nights as she had been in her lonely bed. Oh, her bed was lonely by choice. She had received plenty of offers over the past decade of her widowhood. There had been honorable offers of marriage. And there had been the dishonorable offers of merely sharing pleasure. None of those had appealed to her, in the least. Yet, this latest proposal of marriage, this proposal of Rob’s that she had received only days ago, did tempt her. Or at least, she had found it profoundly satisfying to contemplate until she had received the Royal command this morning. Now the proposal from Rob merely frightened her. She’d often lain in her bed at night, in the silence of the house, longing for the touch of a man, caressing her own breasts and fingering her own quiff, giving herself physical pleasure while fantasizing about her


non-existent lover, or lovers. Lately that fantasy lover had worn Rob Garrick’s all too handsome face and strong body. Putting Rob’s face on her fantasy man, or men, had made her pleasure so much more intense. She had been eagerly anticipating sharing a bed with him. Anne wasn’t at all sure she was willing to name any man husband again, and to grant to anyone that much authority over her. She knew the freedom of being unconfined by a vow of obedience. In spite of the Puritan talk of marriage being simply a civil contract between equal parties, women still made a public pledge of obedience to their husbands during the legal wedding ceremony. Primarily, her freedom had given her the opportunity to serve her rightful King by conveying intelligence, and sometimes people, across Solway Firth, either into or from Scotland. The Firth, a navigation channel full of mud flats and quicksand, could be navigated but only by those who knew the way well. Anne held that Solway Firth was utterly symbolic of these treacherous times. Lady Anne was the last person anyone would think of as a threat to Cromwell’s government. She had been careful in creating that image. Members of the New Model Army had paid her many visits over the last ten years. Cromwell might have silenced many of the Leveler and Digger leadership, yet the underlying dislike for, and jealousy of, people of property and breeding still very much existed in the New Model Army. Anne had always given gracious hospitality to all soldiers, showing them a kindness far in excess of any they deserved. She had even had that horrible man, Robert Lilburne, the deputy of the former Major-General, as a guest at her dinner table and shared the family pew for Sunday morning chapel services when he had been out with his men on an inspection tour of the coastline. Anne was overjoyed that the Major-General system had been disbanded. She was only sorry that Cromwell had compromised on that abomination in order to be named Lord Protector for life. Then he’d been installed in that office with all the pomp of a royal coronation. That compromise had been the trading of a smaller evil for a much larger one. With another sigh, she thought that at least her dear Anthony had been spared the last ten years of social upheaval. It would have killed him to have had to sit quietly by as a rebellious Parliament had murdered his King. The abolition of the House of Lords would have disturbed him to the point of violence. He wouldn’t have been able to take that odious oath of allegiance to the Parliament that declared England didn’t need either King or the House of Lords. Anthony would have found it painful in the extreme to watch the Church he loved be ruthlessly plundered—both with its clergy stripped of office, and its property seized and sold. Anthony wouldn’t have been able to bear the idea of that copper-nosed monster, Oliver Cromwell, becoming King in everything except name. Certainly, he would have come to blows with Lilburne. Absolutely, Anthony would have resisted the insulting and illegal Decimation Tax that had confiscated one tenth of all the property and other wealth of the supporters of the Stuarts. That bit of resistance would have resulted likely in both his death and the confiscation of the estate. These last few years had been terrible times. But Hepburn Hall had made it through all of this relatively unscathed. Now she had orders from her rightful King, orders that no monarch should ever give to a virtuous woman. She had immediately burnt that letter. But nothing could erase the words from her mind. With a heavy sigh, she finished pouring the last of the ten bottles of elderberry wine into the large crock containing the fever-reducing herbs. She covered it with the heavy lid. Twelve hours of steeping were now required to finish her tonic.


Her stock of tinctures and tonics had been nearly exhausted before they had begun working today, having been hit hard in the treating of many of her tenants. She and the maids had spent most of today replenishing those so that the sick could get some relief. It was the lady’s duty to see to the health and well-being of both her household and tenants. Duty. Seemed that all her life had centered on duty. Duty to her parents, then to her husband, then to safeguard the estate in order to hold it for her son John, and always her duty to her King. That Charles Stuart, rightful king that he was, should command this of her filled her with rage. For her to follow this command would make her little more than a lying whore, trading her body for information useful to the Crown. To treat marriage as an instrumentality for gathering information seemed, well, sacrilegious, at the least. She sighed heavily again. “My Lady?” Bertha asked in concern. “Are you well?” “Nothing more than a heavy heart, Bertha,” Anne replied, knowing that she was showing too much emotion in front of the servants. While they were loyal to her, it was never a good idea to wear one’s emotions for all to read. “You are right, this fever that has swept the tenants does resemble the one that took Lord Anthony and the twins. Already fifteen people have died. I suspect there will be many more people dead before the fever runs it’s course in another week or so. It is worrisome. Praise God that this has not yet hit the house.” “Aye, milady,” Bertha answered, her voice gentle. “We are almost done here. Mayhaps you would like to go rest now? It would do no one any good for you to wear yourself out and become ill. A glass or two of elderberry cordial would do nothing except protect you from the fever and gladden your heart.” “Bertha, you’ve mothered me since I came to this house,” Anne dismissed. “Aye, but you were such a young slip of a lass when you wed His Lordship,” Bertha replied with a smile. “A body couldn’t help but mother you. A strong wind could have blown you away.” Anne, Nan to her friends, Lady Solway to her inferiors, had come to Hepburn Hall on the day after the sixteenth anniversary of her birth. She and Anthony had wed by proxy before her father and relatives had begun the trip from Summerfield to bring her to Hepburn. Even though they were already legally wed, on the day of her arrival, Anthony had arranged for the marriage liturgy to celebrate that day in the village church. The Church had been filled with flowers and with well-wishers. Everyone had wanted a look at the Earl’s lady. The marriage between herself and then twenty-two year old Lord Anthony Hepburn had been arranged by their fathers shortly after her birth. Anthony had been her third cousin on her mother’s side. Yet, she had loved Anthony from the first moment she had seen him. John, the present Earl of Solway, had been born a year from the consummation of their marriage. The love between Anthony and herself had only grown deeper during the years of their marriage, until his untimely death from fever a decade ago. Anne forced a smile in return. “You’re a good woman, Bertha Davies.” Bertha looked flustered. “I can finish this myself. Mary, pour milady an elderberry cordial and see her made comfortable. She’s been on her feet all day working here,” Bertha said decisively.


Anne, knowing it was useless to argue with the family retainer, left the stillroom. She went to her sitting room and sat at her writing desk. Retrieving Rob’s letter, she read once more his letter containing his proposal of marriage. Dearest Cousin Nan, Anne read silently. Long you have known of my deep regard and affection for you. It is with a hopeful heart that I now ask you if you will be my wife, my life, my love, my all. Pray, take time to think this over and do not dismiss it out of hand. We have been friends for many years and now it is time for us to become far more than friends and cousins-in-law. My man will remain at Hepburn Hall in your service until you are ready to send him back to me with a reply. I borrow the words of the late Thomas Carew, as they express my feelings for you so well. ‘Give me more love or more disdain; The torrid, or the frozen zone, Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none; Either extreme, of love, or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate. Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden show’r I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture-hopes; and he’s possess’d Of heaven, that’s but from hell releas’d. Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain.’ I could say it no better. We will, I believe, suit and serve one another quite well. We could be one another’s all. I would find nothing else more precious in my mind than to have your love and to call you wife. I long to hold you within my arms, to be truly husband to you. I pray you think about this and send me the answer I long to hear. Your humble and loving servant, Rob Garrick. While reading the missive, Mary came in with a tray containing two stemmed glasses and a bottle of elderberry cordial. The maid poured the elderberry liqueur into a small glass and presented it to Anne. “Milady,” Mary said. “Thank you, Mary. You may go about your duties,” Anne told the maid. Mary curtseyed and left the room. How in the world the king had heard of this proposal of marriage was beyond her. She had told no one. The letter had arrived with Rob’s own seal impressed in the intact wax. All she could think is that Rob had told someone that he was intending to remarry. Few things traveled faster, even between England and the continent, than did gossip. Yet if the king’s sources were that good, then why did he desire to place her in Rob’s household? None of this made much sense to her. But then again, it didn’t have to make sense to her. She had a royal command before her. Her only decision was whether to obey it or to become a traitor. Now, there was a choice. Be a traitor to her rightful king, or to enter a marriage knowing that it was for the purpose of betraying her husband’s trust. Nothing less than her life and honor hung in the balance either way. Either way, she would have to betray someone. Anne sighed, then sipped her liqueur. This cordial had been bottled last autumn. It had mellowed into a smooth, delightful drink. She finished the one glass of the liqueur and poured herself a second. She supposed, upon reflection, that this command of the king’s was no worse than his ordering hundreds of men into battle knowing that many of them would not return. A woman’s way of warfare was simply different than a man’s. There was no doubt that this was war between her rightful king and the rebellious


Parliament that had murdered the late king. Neither could there be much doubt that Rob had picked the wrong side of this conflict when he had chosen to ally himself with Cromwell instead of his king. She sighed again. Many people had chosen to make the best of this terrible time. Perhaps, just perhaps, Rob had made that same decision; to do the best he could within the political necessities of the time, to serve his nation and to try to maintain order in a disorderly time. She didn’t want to judge him. Yet, she knew that until he proved himself, she could not trust him. Anne finished the second glass of cordial. She poured herself another half glass. Marriage. Ten long years had passed since she had known the comfort of a man’s embrace, or the thrill of a man’s kiss. The loneliness was difficult to bear. Working herself until she nightly fell exhausted into bed didn’t make her chamber any the less solitary when the great clock chimed three in the morning. At thirty-one, soon to be thirty-two, Anne was no longer beautiful in the way of a maiden. Bearing and nursing three children had changed her figure from youthful slimness to a mature, more rounded, state. Then again, she had been blessed with sparkling green eyes, deep chestnut hair, a fair complexion, good bones, and a healthy respect for herself. She wore her maturity with dignity. She had almost convinced herself to answer Rob’s proposal with an affirmative, even before this order from the king, in spite of their political and religious differences. Rob was not in Cromwell’s closest circles, but he was near enough to power for the rightful king obviously to believe a spy in Rob’s household to be useful. Rob had been among those dismissed from Parliament at the time of Pride’s Purge. He had nothing to do with the unjust trial and murder of Charles I by the Rump Parliament. Yet Robert had served again in the first and second Protectorate Parliaments. He wouldn’t have been in that position if he hadn’t possessed definite Calvinist leanings. There were certainly worse men she could take to her bed. He really wasn’t hard to look at. In truth, he was one of the most handsome men she had ever known; tall, dark hair he wore long and curled in the style of the day or pulled back in a queue, dark eyes that could sparkle with joy or blaze with anger, muscular as only a man trained and well-practiced in the arts of war could be muscular. He had the hard thighs and strong legs of a horseman and the shoulders and arms of a skilled swordsman. Nan wondered if he still sported the mustache which had adorned his handsome face the last time she saw him. Rob Garrick was four years older than herself. They were related in law as his late wife had been her first cousin Jane who had been like a sister to Anne. He had been absolutely devoted to Jane during the thirteen years of their marriage. And Jane, according to her letters, had found nothing to complain about in their marriage—in his bed or away from it. Anne had always thought it was such a shame that none of Rob and Jane’s six children had survived. Rob had been a widower now for over a year. Anne genuinely liked Rob. With time, she knew that she could come to love him. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and time was an illusion. Love would likely have little to do with this marriage. There would always be walls between them. Trust wasn’t going to be possible. She would have to have his trust. But, she could never give him her own, although she would have to pretend otherwise. This would not be much of a marriage. Yet, to the world, it would have to be a perfect marriage. To Rob’s eyes, it would have to be a perfect marriage. She could give no sign that everything wasn’t normal between them. She removed a sheet of paper from a drawer of her desk. Then she took a pen knife in hand. As she was sharpening the goose quill in order to reply to Rob, she mulled it over, one more time. King’s command or not, to purposefully abuse Rob’s trust, to be ultimately disloyal to a man with whom


she would share bed and board, was something she didn’t know she could do. If she undertook this venture, she would be committing fraud as she was entering this marriage with the full intention of betraying his confidence. Yet, in the scope of greater duty, there was no help for this. Anne didn’t know if she could be good enough of an actress to be able to live a double life to this extent. Yet, if she did this, she would have to be a superb actress. No one could ever have the slightest hint that she was anything other than Rob’s devoted wife. Nothing less than her life would hang in the balance. Cromwell’s government would label as “treason” what she had been ordered to do. The penalty for treason was death, usually by horrible means. She would be placing both herself and Rob at hazard, if she were discovered acting as an agent of the king. Quite likely, she would endanger her son John as well. The dangers were obvious and overwhelming. Yet, except for endangering Rob, these were the same dangers she had faced every day of her life since she had begun this quiet resistance to the tyranny of Oliver Cromwell. They were familiar dangers. If Rob caught any sign of her acting in any way outside of the scope of her duties as his wife he would be within his rights to beat her seriously, even to death. Rob had never laid a hand on Jane in anger. Yet, Jane had been the pattern-card for an obedient wife. To abuse those weaker than himself wasn’t Rob’s normal way of operating. But he was a strong man. Anne couldn’t totally ignore the very real possibility. There was danger here. The full ramifications of this royal command set her head to spinning. Or maybe that was simply a side effect of the liqueur. John, her son, the current Earl of Solway, came into the room. He looked more like his father every day. She had seen the way some of the local girls looked at him. They were looking at him as though he were a man. She supposed that was not so unusual. His beard had begun to grow, although it was still rather sparse, and he was shaping up to be a fine looking man. At fourteen, soon to be fifteen, he was old enough to cross over into Scotland and take a bride. Now, there was a thought that made her feel positively ancient. He’d obviously been out working with the men today. There were times she still looked at John and saw a small lad in skirts. Granted, he had assumed most of the day- to-day supervising of the estate. This was his heritage from his father, grandfather, and all the Hepburns back to the first Earl of Solway who had been created in Stephen’s court after the settlement of the civil war against Maud. Hepburn Hall, the estate, was her son’s legacy, his property, his future. Caring for his people was his duty. Yet, he was in many ways still a boy. Anne hated to see him grow up too fast. Still, she knew her son; he longed to be a man, to be treated as a man. So she tried to do so. In that regard, she had taken to addressing him by his title, instead of his Christian name, as most people in his life would address him as Solway. She sighed and offered. “I wish that while this fever is running through the tenants you wouldn’t expose yourself to it, my dear.” John smiled at her. “Mother, there is a certain amount of work to be done at all times. That there are men ill only makes that much more work for all of us who are healthy. I’m healthy as a horse.” “Have a glass of the elderberry cordial, Solway,” Anne ordered softly. “It’s medicinal. The elderberries have a strengthening effect on the lungs. And you will need that fortification if you are resolute in your desire to continue to work with the men.”


John laughed as he poured himself a glass of the liqueur. He sipped it. Then he walked over to where his mother was sitting. He glanced at the letter from Rob. “You want to talk about it, Mother?” John asked carefully. Anne didn’t need to ask about what. “No. I do not. This is my personal affair.” “Are you seriously contemplating Cousin Rob’s offer of marriage?” he demanded. “Yes,” Anne said in a warning tone. “And what will you answer him?” John asked, his voice careful once more. His mother could flay a person alive with only a few well-chosen, quiet, and always well-deserved words. Lady Anne never raised her voice. She was never rude. Even when angry, she maintained her dignity. Yet, she did not tolerate people interfering in her personal matters. Anne smiled. “That’s between the gentleman and myself, Solway.” “Mother, how would this affect my leaving for Oxford next autumn?” John asked in concern. When his mother resorted to calling him by his title in that tone of voice, instead of “son”, he knew to tread carefully. “The estate can’t be left without someone in the family managing it.” “I am aware of this. I’m certain that some accommodation can be made,” Anne said with more confidence in her voice than she felt. She wanted to see him begin studies at Oxford. His father had spent time there reading law. A few years reading towards a degree would do him a world of good and give him a sense of the real world he’d never get if he stayed here tending crops, raising livestock, and managing the fishery. But if she wasn’t here at Hepburn Hall and if John were away at University, she didn’t know how the estate would be managed and the people cared for. Certainly, it was a bad idea to leave things totally in the hands of an agent. People had gone seriously bankrupt due to bad decisions taken by their estate agents. This was John’s future. Anne needed to safeguard it for him. Her son’s welfare had to be provided for, no matter what else happened. John nodded. “I’m certain that something can be worked out,” he answered with less confidence than she would have liked. Then he smiled at her, genuine relief on his face, “I don’t really need to go to University.” “Yes, Solway. You do need a University education. You will never regret the time you spend there. I want you to have these years. Your father read law at Oxford. You’ve always had a great enjoyment of history. While your life will be tied to Hepburn Hall, you should have intellectual interests as well.” She hesitated, then said her words intended to carry no further than her son’s ears, “Cromwell’s own health is failing. When he’s gone, there is no one else strong or feared enough to hold together this political house of straw that they’ve created. Our rightful king will finally take his throne. And the House of Lords will be restored. When that happens, you must take your proper place within it, as soon as you are of age to do so. You are required to prepare yourself to be a leader. A university education will equip you to better serve your nation. For that reason, you must have these years. There is no other answer for it. You are the Earl of Solway. This is your duty.” John looked at his mother for a long time without speaking. When he did answer her, his voice was both thoughtful and low in volume, “That is the most political speech we have ever had together, Mother.”


Anne smiled at her son. “Political speech is a dangerous thing, my son. Especially now. There is no need for further discussion about this. And we never had this speech together. Do you understand me?” “Aye, Madam. I do hear you and I will obey. Yet you are contemplating marrying Cousin Rob, who is part of this government,” John demanded, keeping his voice low. “Why?” Anne’s expression became impossible for her son to decipher. She spoke in a normal tone, “Supper will be served soon. It would be a good thing if you went to wash.” John laughed. “I shan’t sit at table in my dirt, Mother.” “Go!” Anne watched her son leave the room. All of this would work out. There had to be an overwhelming reason for this royal command. It would be easy for her to talk herself out of being obedient to Charles. Whatever it cost her, she had to be a loyal subject of her king. Satisfied with the point on the quill, Anne opened the inkwell and began to write to Rob.

***** Rob Garrick sat at his desk in his townhouse in London on Monday, 30 November. The time had just gone five in the afternoon. His butler announced the messenger he had sent to Nan had returned. The messenger came into the office. So Nan had sent an answer. Rob was hesitant to read this. However, he took the letter from his man, then told the servant to go get something to eat. Once he was alone again, he opened the letter. My dearest Robert, she had written. Now that gave him hope. He kept reading. I have received your kind offer of marriage. Although I am most unworthy of you, if after we discuss matters face to face, you are certain that this marriage is truly what you desire, then I shall be more than happy to accept your offer. Pray, come to Hepburn Hall to discuss this with me in more detail than can be done via this cold medium of paper and ink. He smiled at that. Nothing between Nan and himself could ever be cold. The sheets on their bed certainly wouldn’t be. Of that he was certain. Rob could easily imagine holding her, her lovely red hair hanging down, her clad only in her chemise, ready for bed. That thought of her in such a state of undress filled him a profound longing to have her in his arms, in his bed beneath him. He could imagine her naked form, bathed in candlelight. Her breasts unfettered, available to his touch, to his mouth. Her mouth his for the taking, however he wanted. Her hips ripe and rounded, lifting to meet his thrusts as she lay beneath him. Or even, perhaps, her hips grinding against him as she took the upper hand in their lovemaking. He imagined her face, wearing the expression of a woman well and truly loved, asleep on the pillow beside him. He imagined her great with his child. He speculated as to what sort of lover she would be. Would she love him sweetly with passion? Or would she be cool and dignified even in bed? Somehow, given her letters to Jane, Rob could not easily believe that “cool” was in any way a valid


descriptor. Nan was far too passionate in her words for her to be cool in intimate matters. She possessed a true redhead’s fire. The late Lord Solway certainly had never expressed any lack of satisfaction with his marriage. Indeed, while Parliament had been in session, he could hardly wait for adjournment to return to his home, wife, and children. Fiery Nan. Would she be adventuresome in bed? Would she be eager for their mating? Would she long for his touch, for his kiss, for his possession of her? He hoped so. He truly hoped so, for he was eager for her. Nan was a gracious and lovely lady. Rob could think of no one else with whom he would like to spend the rest of his life. The fact that she had written so to him filled him with happiness. She could have simply declined his offer. Yet, she hadn’t done that. He continued to read her letter, And as you quoted poetry to me, let me offer with some minor modification the words of John Wilbye; ‘Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face; Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail or turn to ill, So thou and I shall sever. Keep therefore a true man’s eye, And love me still, but know not why; So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever.’ I await your convenience, Anne Whistling, Rob decided that he would leave tomorrow morning, first light. With good weather, and staying to the Roman roads, trading for fresh horses regularly at posting houses, he should be able to cover a hundred miles a day. He could be at Hepburn Hall by Thursday at sunset. If the weather didn’t cooperate, it would be Friday or Saturday.

Chapter Two

Rob dismounted before the weathered stone structure that was Hepburn Hall on Wednesday morning 23 December. This place, Hepburn Hall, had been here so long overlooking Solway Firth that the house almost seemed part of the landscape. Winter storms had delayed his leaving London. And then other storms had left him stranded at Inns along the way for several days at a time. It had been a cold and miserable ride. Rob had not ridden from London alone. He had brought two cousins and his best friend with him. Luggage and gifts, as well as Rob’s valet had been conveyed by one of Rob’s own ships up the coast. They should be here awaiting his arrival. Rob knew that he could have cut weeks from his trip if he had taken passage on the ship. He wasn’t a good sailor at the best of times, which made the fact that much of his money was derived from shipping that much more ironic. Rob far preferred to travel by horse, when possible.


He’d stopped for the night in the village as the cloud cover had portended a moonless night. It would not have been safe to ride even this last leg of the long journey in the dark. After coming this far, he wasn’t about to risk breaking a horse’s leg or his own neck. The clouds that had closed in late yesterday afternoon began to release their moisture in the form of sleet. At least the storm had waited to break until they had arrived. A post-boy had met them and taken their horses. A liveried footman had taken the capes and hats of the party and had directed them to the great hall to sit before the fires and warm themselves. The hall was a large and impressive room. Fires burned from two great gray marble mantled fireplaces. The walls were paneled in oak. The floors were gray marble with black marble diamond insets. The furnishings were heavy, well made. The chairs were upholstered in gold brocade. Paintings, some of which looked very valuable even to a relatively uneducated eye, hung along the walls. Over the mantle hung a large portrait of a beautiful auburn-haired woman and Lord Anthony Hepburn, the late Earl of Solway, the man who had loved Nan first. Rob made a mental note to himself to have the portrait taken down and replaced by one featuring himself and Nan. They’d have one painted to mark the celebration of their betrothal and marriage. It had been several years since last he had seen Nan. He had to admit he was nervous about this meeting. There were things to be considered as they thought about marrying. Marriage was often a matter of property and progeny. Although with Nan, he couldn’t view marriage as anything but the desire of his heart, in spite of their circumstances. “She is a woman of great property, obviously,” Henry Clay, Rob’s best friend, said thoughtfully. John, the current Earl of Solway, entered the room. He spoke with ice in his voice, “No, my mother has only her widow’s jointure and a relatively small independence. The hall, the estate, is mine. If you think to become wealthy as a result of this marriage to my mother, Cousin Robert, you are most gravely mistaken. I manage my own estate on a day-to-day basis.” Rob looked at John. “Good morrow, Solway.” John nodded. “Cousin Robert,” he acknowledged with no warmth in his voice. Yet, his mother had raised him to be polite. Already, he had been blunt to the point of rudeness. He regretted that. Much more control was called for. “Gentlemen, you must be cold. Allow me to furnish you with a hot drink. Pray be seated by the fires and warm yourselves. Take your ease. And pray, make yourself at home.” On days like today, a great kettle filled with wine and whole spices was kept slowly simmering banked with coals to provide warmth for all the household, the tenants, and any travelers who happened by. A young maid carrying a tray of mugs and a tall earthenware carafe came into the room. “Lady Solway told you of my proposal of marriage, I take it,” Rob said in an easy voice to John. “Aye, that she did,” John replied, his voice still holding little warmth. “And you do not approve?” Rob asked. “It is not my place to approve or disapprove. My mother’s life is her own to do with as she will. I do


have concerns, however,” John answered as the maid poured the hot, spiced wine into the large earthenware mugs and began to serve the men. “I’d be truly concerned if you had none,” Rob told him, with a smile. John nodded as he took a cup from the young servant. “Thank you, Sally. You may return to your duties.” “Yes, milord,” the young woman replied with a proper curtsey. John sipped the hot wine, relishing the warmth and giving him some time for his temper to cool down. He would not tolerate being talked to as a child by this man, cousin or no. But, he couldn’t afford to unleash his considerable temper. Perhaps Rob hadn’t meant that in the condescending way he had taken it. The rest of the men sipped their drinks. Rob prodded John, “And what concerns trouble your mind, Solway.” Ah, that was better. At least there was respect in Garrick’s tone. “Lady Solway is my mother. Her happiness is of primary concern for me,” John replied, keeping his voice civil. “I would not take it well were anyone to cause her sorrow or pain.” “This is as it should be,” Rob replied with a smile. “Her happiness is of paramount concern for me as well. Your mother has been a dear friend for many years. I should like nothing better than for her to become my wife.” John nodded. “She has given the matter of your proposal much thought. That is more than she has accorded to the other proposals that have come her way over the years since my father’s death.” Rob’s smile muted and his eyes sharpened. John smiled slightly. “Surely, you did not believe yourself to be the first man since my father’s passing to see my mother for the lovely woman she is? Most of the proposals have come from people seeing only her small fortune. My mother is far too canny to be taken in by false affection.” “My regard for your mother is not false,” Rob replied, with an edge to his words. “I made no representation that it was,” John replied with a larger smile. “Are you planning to read law at University?” Rob asked, with a small smile, realizing that he had been baited and had risen to the bait. He’d have to watch that. The boy, the young man, standing before him was testing him. And Rob knew that he had not fared well in this test, so far. “Perhaps. I had thought to read history. However, I may read law,” John remarked. “That is, if I am able to leave the estate in capable hands long enough to go to University. Great Uncle Cuthbert believes me to be more than ready for University.” Rob’s smile became less broad. “Is Cuthbert Hepburn in charge of your education?” John’s smile became broader at the obvious discomfort in Rob’s face. “Aye. What else is the dear man to do with himself? There are only limited opportunities for an elderly man with a doctorate in sacred


theology.” “Especially for a deposed Anglican bishop,” Rob replied thoughtfully. Joshua Fielding, Rob’s clergyman cousin, spoke up. “I have read the books by Doctor Hepburn. He has a truly fine mind.” John looked for the first time in detail at Rob’s companions. Two of them had the look of Army officers. John thought the one who spoke was likely to be a Presbyterian minister. “Aye, that he does,” John agreed. “He lives locally, my lord?” Joshua Fielding asked in surprise. “He lives in this house. Where else would he go? This is where he was born and reared,” John said with a shade of amusement in his voice. “Home is a wondrous place when one has no other place to go. I will not tolerate any disrespect for my great uncle.” Joshua smiled. “I am certain that disrespect is the last of the attitudes any of us should show the gentleman. I do hope to be able to have speech with him while we are here.” “And how long might that be?” John asked, with just a shade of sharpness to his voice. Just then, Anne came into the room. Rob’s companions rose to their feet. Rob turned to face Nan. He couldn’t help the smile that came across his face. Although many women had shunned the wearing of colors, either as an economy measure or as a political statement, she had not. She stood before him a vision of utter loveliness from the thick coil of deep auburn hair that lay at the back and top of her head to the pretty soft ringlets dressed with pearls and ribbons that framed her fair face to the soft green wool of her clothing. Her figure had filled out over the years. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Green was the color of revolution. Yet, she looked anything except revolutionary. Anne moved with all the dignity of the noble born woman she was. Rob wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly. But, that was not yet his right. “My lady,” Rob greeted her. “Sir Robert, welcome. Your man and luggage arrived some time ago. We were beginning to fear for your safety. I am pleased to see those fears were false. Your room is prepared as are rooms for your companions. Perhaps you would care to rest after your journey?” “Thank you, my lady. Today’s leg took us only from the village. Allow me to present my companions. Major Henry Clay, the Reverend Doctor Joshua Fielding, and Captain Sir Nathaniel Barrow. Doctor Fielding is my cousin. I brought him to officiate at the wedding. Sir Nathaniel is also my cousin. Major Clay is an old friend from school.” Anne smiled slightly and nodded to the men. “Lady Solway,” all three gentlemen answered.


“Major Clay, Doctor Fielding, Sir Nathaniel,” Anne greeted them. “Pray be seated, gentlemen. Knowing Sir Robert, I daresay that you have had some excitement on the roads betwixt Londontown and Hepburn.” Henry Clay laughed. “Are you certain, Rob, it is advisable to consider marrying any woman who knows you this well?” Rob laughed. “Oh, I believe so.” Anne smiled slightly. “I understand the day has turned truly miserable.” “It has indeed, my lady,” Joshua Fielding said warmly. “But the warmth and hospitality of this house has vanished all memory of the inclement weather.” Anne smiled genuinely. “Doctor Fielding, you have a golden tongue.” “I fear it goes with my calling, m’am,” Joshua Fielding replied easily. Anne nodded. “Yes. That it would. Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse us? Sir Robert and I have private matters to discuss. Solway, pray, entertain our guests. Sir Robert, if you will come with me?” “Certainly, my lady,” Rob said quietly. Rob followed her into a small room tucked away in the corner of the house. This was her private sitting room. He closed the door behind them. Even on cloudy and miserable days like today, the room was full of light. A fire was burning, giving warmth to the small room. “Take a seat before the fire,” Anne told him as she turned to face him. This interview made her feel nervous. “There’s no sense in being less than warm.” “Solway’s university education concerns you,” Rob said, not moving to the offered chair. “It does indeed.” “You are aware that my country home, Garrick Hall, was burned to the ground a little over a year ago,” Rob said. Anne nodded. “I am aware of this.” This was how her cousin Jane—and Jane’s children—had died, in the fire that had razed Garrick Hall. “I have no home to take you to once we are wed, aside from a London house. We could easily remain here until Solway completes his degree. It will take at least two years to build a new house at Garrick Park, possibly three years, once plans are finalized. We’ll think about what we require in a home, then engage an architect. Drawing plans for a house can take a year or more, if one takes time to actually discern what is needful. By the time Solway is done with his degree and ready to return to Hepburn Hall, I will be able to furnish a house worthy of you,” Rob said his voice gentle. Anne looked at him. “Is there the money for rebuilding Garrick Hall?”


Rob smiled. “Money is the least of my problems.” “What are among your more serious problems?” Anne demanded, her voice gentle. “You needn’t trouble yourself with my problems,” Rob dismissed. Anne’s eyes flashed with barely controlled anger, but when she spoke, her voice was level. “Then this discussion is over. I see little sense in marrying any man who cannot or will not speak his mind with me. Like Brutus’ Portia, I am stronger than my sex.” “There is no doubt in my mind as to your strength. You are the strongest woman of my acquaintance. I respect greatly the way you’ve managed Hepburn in the years since the late Lord Solway’s passing. And not many women these days can quote from the plays of Master Shakespeare.” “Not many gentlemen these days would admit to recognition of the quote, not with the government’s view of plays,” Anne offered with a small smile. “We are of like mind, my lady,” Rob said with feeling in his voice. Personally, Anne doubted that, rather seriously. “And yet, you will not answer a simple question for me. What are among your more serious problems?” Anne demanded once again. “The fear that the lady I love will not have me to husband ranks first among them at this moment,” Rob replied with utter honesty in his voice. Anne sighed. “Rob,” she began. “Sir Robert…” “Rob will do between us, Nan,” he told her, his voice soft with affection. “I see no need for formality.” “Between us, in private, no. In public, you will always be Sir Robert. And you must never call me ‘Nan’ before the servants. Such familiarity is unsuitable for good order and discipline in the house. You know this.” Rob nodded. “Always wise.” Anne sighed. If I were wise, I wouldn’t be entering this marriage, she thought. Rob reached out and took her gloved hand in his. “Forgive me, Nan. I must know.” She looked at him. What he must know was obvious. She hadn’t seen that level of sexual intensity in a man’s eyes when looking at her for a long time, but she easily recognized it for what it was. Awareness sizzled between them. Anne nervously licked her lips. Rob found that flash of her pink tongue against her lips to be incredibly arousing. He moaned slightly. She knew that he was going to take her into his arms, unless she protested. She could, she should, turn away from him and defuse this sensual powder keg. That would be the right thing to do. Yet, all she wanted was to be in his arms, although that scared her. So, not letting her fears win, she stepped towards him.


“Rob,” she said on a sigh. His arms closed around her and he pulled her tightly up against himself. In that moment, he fit his lips to hers with exquisite care. The caress was sweet for about a half-second until he felt her lips open on a soft gasp. She was vulnerable to him in a way that she hadn’t been vulnerable to any man in years. She didn’t let herself ask questions. She simply enjoyed the taste of him, the subtle textures of his mouth, the play of his mustache against her lip. He held her so tightly that she could barely breathe. She had no defense against him. Nor did she want to have. The sweet caress that began only a moment before became one of consuming heat. Even Anthony, on their wedding night, had never kissed her with even a tithe of this sensuality. Her bones were melting. She couldn’t help but respond to Rob. Anne gave herself wholeheartedly into the embrace, moving her tongue over his in a duel almost as old as mankind, tasting him more deeply each moment until neither of them were certain who was kissing whom. And neither of them cared. Anne was glad that he was holding her. She wasn’t certain that her now weakened legs would hold her. She couldn’t deny the fact she wanted him with an intensity that stunned her. Her body was screaming for more. He tempted her in ways that only one man ever had. He tempted her in ways that Anthony had never even begun to entice her. She was trembling in his arms. Trembling. Her fingers twined themselves in the queue of his long dark hair, holding his head to hers as she sought more of the firestorm of need his mouth was creating within her. Desire was quickly giving way to ravening hunger. He cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her closer to him. Even through the cloth of his breeches and her skirt and petticoats, the strength of his arousal was apparent. He was obviously as hungry for her as she was for him. The small sane corner of her mind was screaming that she should stop this while it was still stoppable. But she ignored that. This was simply too delicious. She didn’t want to stop, even though she knew where they were going. She released him and threw her head back. He took advantage of that to begin nibbling on her ear and kissing and licking her neck and throat. The feel of his breath on her neck, the soft flicks of his tongue, drove her mad. His mouth moved down to lavish attention on the swell of her breasts above the square neckline of her bodice and stomacher. His hands were still on her ass, holding her close to him. Tension built rapidly, sweeping her along with them, as he continued to use his mouth to arouse her. Suddenly, that wave of sensation crested. She gasped. Her whole body stiffened. Rob lifted his head and looked at her, his expression a mixture of desire and masculine pride. He couldn’t believe that she had achieved this much pleasure with so little work on his part. Then, not giving


her time to calm from this release, his hands went beneath her skirt and numerous petticoats, wadding them up. With a couple of steps, and without asking permission, he urged her against the wall. “Wrap your legs around me and hang on,” he instructed, his voice gruff with need as he unbuttoned his breeches and lowered them and his drawers only as much as necessary. As badly as he wanted to explore her lovely and responsive form, his body was screaming for release. Anne held tightly onto him, trusting him to hold her, and wrapped her legs around his hips. She was so hot and tight he had to find some measure of control when he had barely inched his quimstake inside her. His instincts screamed at him to possess her with one hard thrust. Yet, he held back. He didn’t ever want to hurt her. This was their first time together. It was obviously her first time to be with anyone for many years. This encounter was already far from perfect. He didn’t want her having additional regrets. Sighing his name, she tightened her legs around him even more, taking him fully into the warm silken sheath of her quiff. She looked at him as he thrust into her. His expression was as hungry as any she had ever seen on a man. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the light show playing on her eyelids and the quivering of her flesh as his hard quimstake alternately filled and retreated from her. His lips and tongue were teasing her neck. Tension built until she thought that she would die if she didn’t find release, and die if she did. A few moments later, when the tension in her lower body exploded once more, she felt her consciousness dim. His hold on her tightened and he whispered to her. She didn’t catch the words. But his tone was soft and loving. She could feel him deep within her as her treacherous body rewarded him with contraction after contraction. It was a matter of a few more hard and deep strokes until she felt him shudder with the warm pulsing of his climax. Rob buried his face in her shoulder. Gradually, both of their breathing slowed and settled back into some semblance of normalcy. He raised his head and planted a light kiss just behind her ear. The shudder that ran through her pleased him, tremendously. He knew that he could never have enough of this woman. He also knew that anyone could come in here at any time. It would be a cause of great embarrassment and public humiliation were they to be discovered like this. Rob put Anne back on her feet and steadied her before he stepped back from her and refastened his breeches as she smoothed her skirts. “Nan, I…” Anne placed her fingers to his lips. “No apology, Rob. I could have stopped this, should have stopped this. The responsibility is mine as well as yours. We are both adults and knew what the risks were of being alone together. Now, pray, excuse me for a few moments. I shall return shortly.” Rob watched her back as she hurried from the room.


***** Walking away from him was the hardest thing she had ever done. But she had to have a few minutes to herself. The enormity of what had just happened overwhelmed her. How could she had behaved like a wanton? This wasn’t like her. She’d never done anything like this. Entertained the thought, yes. Actually done it, no. There was a wide chasm between thought and action. Or at least, there had always been a wide chasm, until now. Anne needed to think. Why had she allowed, participated in, this? Was it because she had been ordered to marry him? No. She didn’t think she was devious enough to seduce him into marrying her because of guilt. Besides, where was the advantage in that? He had already proposed. That proposal was already on the table. He couldn’t honorably retract it. And if there were one word that described Rob, it was “honorable.” So, why had she done this? She forced herself to walk slower with dignity when all she wanted to do was to lift her skirts slightly and run up the stairs before locking herself in her bedchamber. Yes, Rob was a good man. How could she even contemplate betraying him? Yet, how could she do otherwise? All of this made her head and stomach ache. All she could do, she knew, was to focus on the reality of the situation. She needed to think about the practical, moment-to-moment, tasks before her. If she could just stop thinking about the ethics of the situation then everything would be better. No one could see that she was less than pleased with the situation. That would be dangerous. Speaking of practical, Anne knew she couldn’t go through the rest of the day wearing the musky odor of sex. Her monthly flux had just completed. The phase of the moon was wrong for her to have conceived. But she made a mental note to begin taking the herbal mixture to prevent conception. Since she had placed Rob in the adjoining bedchamber and given what had just passed between them, she couldn’t imagine that she would fail to share his bed between now and their wedding. Now there was an exciting thought. She had already well earned the public punishment the Puritans would impose on her for fornication. Nothing else would make her more guilty. So why not? Besides, the Puritans tended to wink at sex between betrothed. Well, as much as they winked at any sin. She refused to feel badly about this. Yes, it was a lapse in judgment. Rob touched her and she lost her head. Lost hers and gained his, she thought wryly with a small smile and a sigh. She decided that she was just plain wicked and that she rather liked it. Anne entered her bedchamber and went to the wash-stand. There was still water in the pitcher. But, she would need to do more than simply wash. This called for a heavier scent to be worn. She went to her dressing table. The only scent she had compounded that could cover the musky scent of sex was the frankincense. She lifted the glass vial. It was nearly empty. Frankincense was hard to come by, these days. She had used her last bits of the amber-colored resin to make this vial of perfume. And now, it was nearly gone. The excisemen looked suspiciously on anything that, to their minds, had Popish overtones. Incense items were definitely among that list of objects causing suspicion. She dabbed some of the precious scent on her pulse points. The fragrance was rich and heavy. She appreciated the richness of the scent.


***** Rob sat down before the fire. He rubbed his neck. How in the world could he have taken those liberties with any lady, let alone with Nan? He had used her with less finesse than he would have shown to a common taproom whore. The single kiss he had thought to win from her had taken on a life of its own. He had the answer to his question as to the level of attraction between them. There was passion. Oh, aye, there was passion! He had thought there might well be. But he had no inkling until a few moments ago just how responsive his lady was. He had suspected things between them would be good. Yet, this came as an agreeable discovery. He knew that he would have to make amends for being so rough with her. But all he could think of was how good it was going to be to share a bed with her, to have her beside him every night, all night. Oh, the pleasures they would share. His mind was full of all the things he wanted to do with her, of pleasures he wanted to share with her. If she was this responsive to a quick tumble, what would she be in bed when they had all the dark hours to explore one another? The woman is dangerous to my self-control,he thought. Then he chuckled. Marriage to Nan was going to be anything except dull. There would be babies, of course. The idea of seeing Nan big with his baby filled him with both joy and dread. Two of his babies with Jane had died in infancy. The other children had died in the fire with her. What he wanted more than anything else was to have a family of his own again. A family of little girls who looked like their mother would be nice. Yet, he needed an heir. Garrick Hall would be rebuilt. And they would all live quietly, happily, in the country. Rob had his fill of Parliament, of London, of the politics of government. All he wanted was a quiet life. But that was the one thing denied him. It was the one thing likely to be continually denied him for the foreseeable future. The nation would be in a truly sorry shape if no one in Parliament opposed the demagogues, autocrats, and bureaucrats in the government. Yet, Rob was tired of the constant bickering, backstabbing, and general bullshit involved in this Parliament. Besides, he saw very little use for Parliament under the current government. Oliver Cromwell would do precisely what he desired, with or without the support of Parliament. And Cromwell had certainly shown himself willing to levy and collect unjust and illegal taxes without the authorization of Parliament, in his use of the decimation tax. Parliament had managed to negotiate away both the decimation tax and the division of England into military districts under Major-Generals by giving Cromwell what he wanted most, the kingship in everything except name. Rob was in no doubt that if the Army would have stood still for it, Oliver Cromwell would be the King in name. But Oliver was entirely too canny to cut off his substantial nose to spite his face. The Army had brought him to power. A revolt from that quarter could remove Cromwell from power. And at least Oliver Cromwell was predictable. That was more than he could say about any of those in the current government who might replace him, were he to be overthrown. Those were the realities of the situation. Already there were rumblings from among the Army. Rob had heard those. Rumblings that Cromwell was trying to placate by reconstituting for the second session of this Parliament the equivalent of a House


of Lords, only with the leaders of the Army sitting there. Rob didn’t think it would work. But, time would tell. Cromwell had made many false friends and even more true enemies. There was no way of telling how long the current government would survive. Rob only hoped the next chapter in history would be calmer. Already, some were quietly talking of inviting Charles Stewart, son of the previous King, to take the throne. Those discussions had to be quiet. If Cromwell and his inner circle learned of the discussions heads would roll, including Rob’s own. At the moment, politics was not his main concern. All he wanted to think about were his own domestic arrangements, especially as they related to the lovely woman whom he hoped would soon be returning to this cozy parlor. Politics and matters of state could take a holiday. A Christmas holiday for government. Now, wouldn’t that set many of Cromwell’s closest cronies on their ears? Rob thought with a smile.

***** It was more than a few minutes later when Anne arrived. Rob turned to look at her when she returned. She didn’t speak to him until she was seated in the second of the chairs near the fire. Anne picked up lucet she had left in the workbasket beside her chair. Making this useful flat cord was something she could to do keep her hands busy while talking to Rob. This was one thing that she could do with her elbow-length kid gloves on, as fashion dictated ladies to wear nearly all the time. And if her hands were busy, she would be less likely to reach for him. Besides, there was always work to be done. It wasn’t going to get done unless she did it. “Now, Sir Robert,” she began in a formal tone. “You called me Rob a few moments ago.” “It would be best for us both to put that out of our minds,” she offered. Rob smiled and shook his head. “You think that is going to be possible?” “I have serious doubts,” Anne admitted as she worked on making the cord. “Yet, we need have speech about this marriage you have proposed.” “We’ve proven the physical side of marriage will be no hardship for either of us,” Rob replied. Anne unsuccessfully fought the blush she felt rising to her face, but she kept working on her cord. “It would seem not.” “Mayhaps you should tell me what is on your mind?” Rob said encouragingly. “I have been my own mistress for the last decade. I am not eager to be once more under obligation to obey anyone, even you,” she confessed.


Rob nodded. “I see.” “It is a reasonable concern,” she said defensively. “Yes. For both of us. John Dod and Robert Cleaver wrote, ‘The husband who is not beloved of his wife, holdeth his goods in danger, his house in suspicion, his credit in balance, and also sometimes his life in peril, because it is easy to believe that she desireth not long life unto her husband, with whom she passeth a time so tedious and irksome.’” Anne nodded, but her fingers continued making the smooth cord used for decoration of clothing and for laces. “I have read that book.A Godly Form of Household Government: for the Ordering of Private Families. According to the Direction of God’s Word. Indeed, I believe there to be a copy in the library. It has been reprinted many times.” Rob smiled. “Indeed it has, my lady.” Anne kept working her cord. Rob sat watching her skillful fingers work. Finally, he asked, “When shall the wedding be?” “We both have seen how low our ability to resist temptation is with one another. Were there still a provision for special license I would have already written the local bishop. But, since,” she began, but he cut her off. “There no longer are bishops in England,” he partially finished her thought. “Well, not any who are allowed to function in their capacity, at any rate,” she replied quietly. “Speaking of bishops, what were you thinking to allow Cuthbert Hepburn to live under this roof?” “Politics take a backseat to family concerns. Uncle Cuthbert needed a place to be. So, I took him in. He is an old man who is no threat to anyone.” “His sons should have taken in him.” “His sons are all dead.” “His grandsons, then.” “He has three grandsons remaining alive. Matthew is in Ireland trying, I gather in vain, to keep order in the holdings there. Andrew has turned Quaker. He’s practicing medicine in London. I understand he’s living and consulting in a single room above a shop near Fleet Street. He is dirt poor as Matthew has cut him off without an allowance in reaction to their heated disagreement about Andrew’s chosen religious convictions. Daniel turned Papist and went to live under solemn vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience in a Franciscan monastery in northern Italy. I understand that he has recently taken holy orders. To whom would you have me send Uncle Cuthbert? Which of these grandsons of his could provide a congenial environment for him?” Rob sighed. “I see the point.” “Uncle Cuthbert is a seventy-three year old man nearly crippled up from rheumatism. I fear his heart is


not strong. He has no other place to go. Would you have me turn him out into the street?” Anne demanded, keeping her voice to a conversational level. “No,” Rob replied. “I would not have you turn him out onto the street.” Anne looked at Rob. “Good. As I would not obey you if you so ordered me. This is still Solway’s house and my first duty is to act as his guardian. John has a duty to care for him.” Rob nodded. “I understand.” “Marriage is a serious matter. We’ve rather taken some substantial leaps toward that state in the last hour or so,” Anne told him, trying not to be embarrassed by what had passed between them. Yet, she was embarrassed. She couldn’t help it. “Yes,” Rob replied, his voice gentle. “It is a serious matter. And I will be a good and kind husband to you. You need have no fear on that account.” Anne sighed. She had no doubt of that. She simply wished that she could forget the words of the royal command she had received. Although the paper had long since been burnt to ashes, the words remained engraved upon her mind. She had been nearly ready to accept his proposal before that royal command arrived. Perhaps she just needed to remember that she wasn’t marrying him because of the command, but in spite of it. “We need to speak our minds with one another,” Anne told Rob. “I have no mind when I look at you,” Rob answered her, his voice honest. “I have only desire and need.” “We have already well demonstrated the mutuality of that,” Anne replied as she continued to make cord. “The banns could be called starting Sunday. We could then be wed anytime during the week following the last publication,” Rob replied. Anne chuckled as she rose from her chair. She retrieved a certificate from her desk. Then she returned to the fire and handed it to him. Rob read it. Then he laughed heartily. “You’ve already had the banns called,” he said with surprise in his voice as he looked at her. “I saw no need to wait. It is not binding without a ceremony. Many times banns are called and no marriage takes place,” she dismissed. “But I did have doubts that you would want to wait three weeks after your arrival to celebrate the marriage. I also had doubts that you would simply be willing to cross over into Scotland and marry there for sake of expediency. Therefore, this seemed the most prudent step.” Rob couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “My lady, you are amazing.” She sighed. “Merely practical. I’ve had a painting done to celebrate our betrothal. Well, it’s not exactly done. The artist awaits adding your image. It is mostly done, after almost three weeks of work. If you will grant him a few hours today, the portrait should be ready to hang tomorrow after the wedding ceremony.”


“Tomorrow?” “Is there any sense in waiting?” “No. I’m assuming the marriage will be celebrated in the village Church?” “I was thinking of the chapel here, as I fear the weather will not cooperate to allow travel even to the village.” “The law requires this to be in a place set aside for public worship.” “The chapel here is a duly consecrated place of worship. It was set aside for the worship of God in the year of our Lord 1350, and has been in continuous use since then. There are times no one on the estate can travel any distance, as in this weather. We have services in the chapel then. His Majesty, Henry VIII, paid a royal visit here and worshipped with the family in the chapel. Even Major-General Lilburne has been known to attend Sunday morning exercises here on his visits up and down the coast. I have letters from him thanking me for offering him hospitality and remarking upon the Sunday services he attended in the chapel.” Rob looked at her. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Very well. Tomorrow morning?” “Nay. Evening, before supper. The household staff has already threatened a mutiny if I do not allow them to put on as festive of a wedding as possible. That means they will need time tomorrow to decorate and cook. And besides, you have to sit for a portrait.” “Madame, you are a managing female,” Rob told her, affection in his voice. “Aye, sir. I am. I am also too old to change. The woman you see before you is the woman with whom you will spend the rest of your life. If the prospect quells, then now is the time to cry off,” she warned. “Well, sir. I would know your mind.” “The only crying off likely to happen will be done by you, my lady. Are you willing to take me to husband, although you know my faults?” “All have faults, Rob. Mine are legion.” Rob smiled at her and reached for her hand. She placed her gloved hand in his. “Then we are truly well matched, my lady.” Anne wanted to hope so. Yet, instead of holy matrimony, she was very much afraid that the state they were entering would be unholy acrimony especially if he ever learned of the royal command she had received. That would be a secret worth killing to keep.

Chapter Three


Everyone was standing around the dining table in the great hall. The servants had just laid the dishes of the first course. It was mid-day and time for dinner, the main meal of the day. Down the center of the table, dishes sat in symmetrical arrangement, for people to serve themselves from as a buffet. Joshua Fielding looked at the dishes. Then he looked at Anne. Then he looked back at the meal. The dishes were mostly fish or seafood of one kind or other. A tureen of a thick pea soup started the arrangement. There was a platter containing two large spit-roasted, almond-stuffed fish with a special wine sauce. It smelled delightfully of oranges and cinnamon. There was a small whole salmon poached in beer and herbs with a touch of vinegar. Next to it were gingered and herbed collars of boiled boneless eel, served with orange slices and a sauce of oil and mustard. Pickled green cucumbers filled a dish. Crisp cakes of crabmeat were piled high on another plate. A bowl full of sliced candied pickled beetroots came next. This was followed by an oyster and eel pie sweetened with both raisins and currants. Cheese fritters sprinkled with sugar and rosewater were next. A salad of pickled artichokes and broom capers with lemon slices followed. Fresh baked white bread was sliced and on a platter. “My lady, do you keep Advent in this house?” he asked carefully, with suspicion in his voice. Anne smiled. “Mr. Fielding, we eat what is available. This time of year, that is primarily fish and seafood, along with preserved foods from summer. We shall have beef and goose, both roasted, as part of the wedding supper tomorrow. Uncle Cuthbert, would you bless this meal?” “Bless, dear Lord, this food to our use and us to Thy ever faithful service. Make us ever mindful of the needs of others, even as we are in the midst of plenty. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen,” Cuthbert offered in a pain-filled voice. Everyone echoed the Amen before they began to help themselves to the food. Anne smiled at her uncle-in-law. Days like today, the old dear’s rheumatism was extremely painful. She hated to see him in such discomfort. Yet, he would not take the potions to relieve the pain. He didn’t like how they slowed his mind. Joshua Fielding had engaged Uncle Cuthbert in theological discussion. They were civil to one another, although they strongly disagreed with one another in several areas. Yet, that was to be expected. Anne’s mind wondered as she began running the logistics for getting the wedding done through her head. The timing was going to be tight. Anne only hoped that she would not have cause to regret this marriage. “What say you, Niece?” Cuthbert asked. Anne looked at her Uncle-in-law. “I do beg your pardon, Uncle. I fear my mind was elsewhere.” Cuthbert smiled at her. “Indeed. That is to be expected of a young woman before a wedding,” he said indulgently. “No longer young, my dear,” she corrected. The old man laughed. “Niece, when you get to be my age, then you can talk about being no longer young. You are in the prime of your life.”


Anne smiled at him, then her expression became serious. “You are not eating, Uncle. Should I have something else prepared for you? What would you find appetizing?” “I have never been served a bad meal in this house,” Cuthbert replied with a smile. He picked up his fork and ate a bite of the piece of poached salmon he had taken. “This meal was not the first. The fish is excellent as usual.” “If you are certain,” Anne replied, her voice worried. “I’m sure Mistress Giddings would be only too happy to prepare you something else, if you find this array unappealing.” Cuthbert laughed, then took another bite. “Sir Robert, you see the sort of woman you are marrying. She is a managing female.” Rob smiled. “There are worse fates than to be managed by such a lady.” “Well, Niece, are you happy with your selection of a second husband?” Cuthbert asked. “Of course, Uncle,” Anne replied quietly before she sipped her ale. “I must second Mister Hepburn’s comments about the excellence of the meal, my lady,” Joshua Fielding stated. “I have never eaten eel as delicious as this.” “Thank you. It is my own receipt,” Anne replied. Rob’s cousin Captain Sir Nathaniel Barrow chuckled. “Beautiful, charming, and accomplished in the art of cooking. Rob, you are incredibly lucky.” “I am aware of that,” Rob told them with a smile on his face. “Lady Solway is remarkable.” Anne warned lowly, “Do not have false expectations, Sir Robert. I am merely a woman, with many of the faults typical of my sex. We have known one another for far too many years that you should have any expectations to the contrary.” “I have no false expectations,” Rob stated. “I sincerely hope not,” Anne replied, but her voice conveyed her doubt. “I stand convinced, my lady,” Major Clay said in a gentle tone. “No couple knows one another well enough to consider marriage until they are wed for some time.” “That may well be true,” Anne acknowledged. “Yet once that step is taken, it is too late to change one’s mind.” Cuthbert spoke up after he sipped his ale. “I have performed marriage ceremonies for no fewer than six hundred couples during my active ministry. I could foretell which marriages would be happy and which would not, simply by interviewing the couple.” “And what would you be looking for in that interview?” Joshua asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.


Cuthbert finished his fish before speaking. “The maturity of the couple. Their affection for, and commitment to, one another. The lack of bad habits in both of them. If either were habitual in resort to vices, the marriage was doomed to unhappiness from day one.” Joshua Fielding nodded. “That makes a good deal of sense. One can see how discord might be forthcoming were the woman not virtuous.” Cuthbert shook his head as if to dismiss that, “A man usually knows at the onset if his wife has not been chaste. Surprises in that regard have always been subject to annulment. That has never been a real problem. I’ve found more to be concerned about the marriage if the man were prone to drink in excess or gaming beyond his means or was chronically short of temper and prone to violence or if he were a lazy layabout unwilling to work. Women are at the mercy of the men in their lives. To have a man be less than merciful and strong in his abilities to provide and care for his wife is a receipt for disaster.” The men at the table were silent for a moment. Sir Nathaniel Barrow spoke, “You speak from decades of experience in this matter. What would your best advice be to any gentleman seeking a bride?” Cuthbert sipped his ale before he spoke. “People are as happy as they allow themselves to be and no more. Happiness in marriage depends not on the perfection of one’s spouse, but on the willingness to quietly enjoy one another’s company and on the respect that each holds for the other, even when disagreeing. Passion fades away. Love endures even beyond the grave. Every marriage faces challenges. Life is a series of challenges. We struggle with many things in life. With God’s help, and the assistance of a good wife, men manage to overcome difficulties. That is my advice.” Rob sipped his ale. “Seems to be good advice, my lord Bishop,” he said quietly. “I shall take it to heart.” Cuthbert nodded after he finished his food. “There is better advice. It comes from St. Paul’s own epistles. Read First Corinthians, the thirteenth chapter, for a description of charity. This is the kind of charity that we all should strive for in our relationships with others, always seeking to imitate God’s love for us in our love for others, particularly those others closest to us.” “Shall I have the second course laid?” Anne asked. Cuthbert nodded. “By all means. What have you to tempt our palates, Niece?” “Apple pasties. Shell bread. Countess cakes. Ginetoes. Red gingerbread. Marzipan bacon. Cheeses, preserved pears, and oranges. I must ask your forgiveness for such a sparse dinner.” “No one goes hungry from the table, my lady,” Rob replied gently. “No one ever goes hungry from my table, Sir Robert, nor from the servants’ table in the kitchen. We may not always have the food we would prefer, but all bellies in this house are filled with as good of things as we can muster,” Anne replied. “And none of my household, not even a scullery maid, goes bare of foot or threadbare of cloth. I provide well for my household.” Rob nodded. “Indeed, my lady, no one said otherwise.” “The artist will want you to sit for him this afternoon, Sir Robert. Pray, do me the favor of appearing before him in your wedding clothes. I should like this image to accurately depict us as we shall be


tomorrow,” Anne stated. “Aye, my lady, that was my intention,” Rob stated with a smile. “Thank you.” The servants cleared the remnants of the first course away and laid the second course on the table. Anne cast a critical eye on the chargers filled with sweets. She didn’t even like to think of the number of hours of labor all this represented. The marzipan bacon and the Countess cakes had been made right after the almond harvest. Strips of red and white marzipan had been put together, then collops cut and dried to make the marzipan bacon. The Countess cakes were another dried almond paste confection. The apple pasties were little fried pies filled with reconstituted dried apples and raisins with cinnamon. Shell bread were little rich cakes baked in mussel shells. The ginetoes were a sweet pretzel. The red gingerbread was a molded gingerbread made with red wine. Anne had remembered that it was a favorite sweet of Rob’s. She had preserved the pears herself this last fall and the cheeses were from the home-farm dairy. Joshua Fielding spoke up. “Rob said that you have already had the banns called.” Answering Joshua Fielding, Anne said, “Yes I have.” “Am I to have the honor of officiating?” Joshua Fielding asked. Anne looked at Rob, then back at Joshua Fielding. “I understood that was why you accompanied Rob…er, Sir Robert…to Hepburn. Uncle Cuthbert, do you mind?” “I understand the legalities involved,” Cuthbert replied his tone serious. “And it has always been the man and woman who have been the ministers of marriage to one another, by mutual consent. The form truly matters not. There have been many different forms for the ceremony over the centuries. Marriage remains primarily a matter of will. Christians disagree on the nature of marriage, whether it be a sacrament, a sacramental, a special grace, or merely an allowance for human weakness. But the one thing that we all agree on is that marriage is by no means to be entered into lightly. I know you, Niece. I know that you would not have accepted his offer of marriage without a good deal of thought and soul-searching being involved in that decision.” “Yes,” Anne answered quietly as she helped herself to a pear half, a collop of marzipan bacon, an orange, and some cheese. “Marriage is a profoundly serious matter. I’ve been widowed for a decade now. Had I taken the matter less seriously, I would have remarried before now.” Rob smiled. “I am delighted that you had not accepted any of your previous offers, Nan…my lady.” “As am I,” Anne replied with a small smile. The conversation became general until everyone had finished eating. “Now, I have work to do. I had this afternoon planned to be at my loom. The work needs done as several of the servants need new items of clothing. For that, I must weave the cloth. I beg that you will excuse me after dinner. Gentlemen, I pray you, make yourselves at home. We have a fairly good library that is certainly at your disposal. There are instruments a plenty if you wish to amuse yourself in music. Cards and fair dice are available, should you wish to game. Imaginary stakes only if you please. Sir


Robert shall be occupied in having his image made. Or, should you wish to be at your prayers, the chapel is available. Anything you need, you have only to ask one of the servants. The late Lord Solway found it a congenial occupation on a miserable winter day to go with a friend into the long gallery and fence. Foils, with buttons, are stored in the closet there for that purpose. Again, I would have you make yourselves at home. I only ask you that if you do fence that you do so with the buttons on the foils so that you do not injure one another.” Rob laughed. “Aye, my lady, we hear you.” “So I hope,” Anne replied. “Pray, excuse me, gentlemen. I shall be in my workroom if I am needed.”

***** She had taken a moment to send a note around to Mistress Norris with an invitation for the widow and three daughters come to supper this evening at the Hall with music and dancing to follow. The invitation included two overnight stays at the Hall, a sleigh ride to convey them to and from the Hall, and an invitation to the wedding tomorrow evening. The fact that there were three bachelors present was a fact that she didn’t waste time letting the widow of the former village Rector know. Anne sat at her loom. She had forced all of her attention into the cloth she was weaving, forcing herself to quickly throw the shuttle through the warp threads and to tighten the woof down to produce a thick, tight cloth. She had worked as fast as she could and still make good, sturdy black woolen cloth. This was her second afternoon on this bolt of fabric. Anne wanted to see it finished. The work went on for hours. Three other maids were sitting in the room, near the windows, knitting woolen stockings and chatting animatedly as they worked. Anne had shut out much of their chatter except when they had particularly addressed her with a question. Sometimes, the demands on her time and the time of her maids just seemed to overwhelm her. And now, she was taking on the duties of keeping a husband pleased? Insanity. That is the only explanation, she thought wryly. But she knew that was not the case. She knew only too well how easily she responded to Rob. The prospect of sharing a bed with him filled her with such pleasure that it nearly drowned out her other very legitimate concerns. Fire burned hotly between them. When they had more time than a quick tumble, what pleasures would he show her? Would he be gentle in bed? Would he be demanding? Would he be well skilled in the arts of love, or have a repertoire of sexual acts limited to fucking only? Oh, not that he fucked badly. No, not at all. Nothing that passionate could ever be bad between a man and a woman. She certainly had enjoyed those few moments they had shared. Before, with her late husband, it had been enough for him that he was satisfied in bed. Now, she wanted some of that pleasure for herself. Maybe that was selfish. Even so, she had no intention of going through the rest of her life without having the pleasure she now knew herself capable of experiencing within intimacy with a man. She sighed softly. The maids all heard that soft sound. All of them recognized it as a lover’s sigh. It had been a very long time since they had heard it from the lips of her ladyship. They smiled at each other in approval. It was high time that her ladyship had a man in her life.


Anne’s mind turned with speculations about Rob. Would he enjoy many of things she wanted to explore with him? Or would he think her wanton if she kissed his quimstake and balls? Would he be revolted if she asked him to kiss her quiff, then to run his tongue over that most sensitive part of her? Given their encounter earlier, she didn’t think he would be averse to making love in other than the standard man on top position. The more she thought on this, the more images of them together filled her mind, with Rob’s hands and mouth loving her, with her mouth and hands loving him, hip to hip, grinding, thrusting, reaching their pleasure. The speculation was nearly more than she could stand. Just thinking about him made her breasts heavy and her quiff wet. She couldn’t deny the fact that she desired him. She couldn’t deny the fact that her desire for him surpassed anything she had until now thought herself capable of feeling. One of the maids, Sally, working at the other loom looked at her. “Milady, shall I finish that for you?” “No, Sally. I’ll do it. Thank you.” The maid smiled at her. Anne looked at the young woman. Sally had been at the manor for thirteen years since Anne had first taken the orphaned child into service. Anne had watched her grow into a sturdy young woman of eighteen. Sally would never be a beauty. But, she wasn’t hard on the eyes. And the girl, the young woman, was a hard worker possessing a sweet disposition. “Sally, you have grown up in this house. I am fond of you. Shall I make a match for you?” Anne asked the servant. Sally colored. “Milady, no, thank you. I’ve been a-meaning to talk to you about it. Thomas Wilson and I…” Sally said, breaking off in embarrassment. “Ah.” Thomas Wilson in charge of the stables. He was a fine young man of twenty-two, the youngest son of the local innkeeper. Over the last ten years, he’d worked his way up into a position of authority in the Hepburn stables . Thom, from what she could tell of him, would be a good husband to Sally. Anne approved of this marriage. She smiled at Sally. “You have my blessing. And you and Thomas may have Charlie Riggs’ former cottage as your marital home.” “Oh, milady,” Sally gushed as though Anne had just given her a priceless gift instead of the use of a truly tiny cottage. “Or did you wish to live in the stables with the rest of the grooms?” Anne teased. “No, milady,” Sally said with a chuckle. “I was mortal a-feared we would be a-living with his mum.” She couldn’t blame Sally for that. Peggy Wilson, a widow who ran the village inn along with her oldest son, could be thoroughly unpleasant when crossed. Last Anne had heard, Peggy was matchmaking between Thomas and the only daughter of the village blacksmith. This marriage between Thom and Sally would not be pleasing to Peggy Wilson. But she’d get used to it. Anne smiled. “The cottage is your residence as soon as you are man and wife, but not a minute before. It comes unfurnished. But the cottage is sound. We re-thatched it a year ago. Charlie’s furniture was claimed by his cousins. I will make wedding present to you of a bedstead and mattresses, as well as a


table and chairs. I’ll have to check the accounts to see how much money you have laid aside for yourself from your wages. Off-hand, I believe you have saved sixteen pounds over the years.” “Sixteen pounds, six shillings, I believe, milady,” Sally answered. Anne smiled at the young woman. “That is a good sum for a bride’s portion and should be more than enough for you to equip yourself with household goods sufficient to start your married life as well as to put something back against the future. I shall issue it to you as soon as I can check the accounts.” “Yes, milady,” Sally replied. “And if you wish, you may continue working in the house until your babes start coming. Then your first duty is to them. But, there will always be work for you weaving and sewing for Hepburn Hall. You have a fine hand with cloth.” Sally smiled. “I enjoy the work.” “When will you have the banns called?” “Starting Sunday, if it suits your ladyship.” Anne nodded. “It is your and Thomas’ life. You must make the decisions about it as suit you.” “You’ve been very kind to me. You are kind to all your servants, m’am. But, you’ve always been especially kind to me. Not every mistress would have seen her servants all taught their letters and sums.” “That is a shame bordering on sin. Everyone should be able to read the broadsheets for news as well as her Bible for inspiration. Anyone who cannot do sums well enough to manage his own money is at a profound disadvantage,” Anne replied. Sally smiled. “Aye, m’am.” “Before your wedding, you and I will have a comfortable coze about marriage.” Sally blushed. “Mistress Giddings has already talked to me about it.” Anne smiled. She could just about imagine what the cook had told this child about sex. Lottie Giddings was thrice widowed, having married a likeable rogue each time. Two of her husbands had been killed in taproom brawls. The third had drowned after going out in a fishing boat while drunk. “As I said, we will speak frankly about marriage before you and Thomas wed. Now, run along and tell your Thomas of your news. Go carefully! I do imagine that the ground has turned truly icy.” “Yes, milady.” Once she was alone, Anne finished tying off the bolt of cloth she had woven. She went to look at the work Sally had done. As usual, it was excellent. Another couple of hours work and Sally would be done with this bolt of fabric as well. This bolt of Sally’s fabric would mark the last of the spring’s shearing of wool that they had set aside for weaving. Once the last of the wool was woven, the cutting and sewing would begin for the new clothes for most of the household. The fire was low. Anne went to the fireplace to stoke it and add more fuel.


“Oh, milady,” Joan Carry said as she rushed over from where she had been sitting knitting. “You needn’t trouble yourself with that. I’ll do it.” “I am capable of stoking and feeding a fire, Joan.” “Why, bless my soul, of course you are! There’s precious little you ain’t capable of doing, m’am. You know our jobs as well as we do. It’s a joy to serve in this house as you have no unreasonable expectations.” Anne laughed. “Joan, you are an original.” “Yes, m’am,” Joan said with a laugh. “Always have been.” “You and the other girls have been working steadily on those stockings. Thank you for your work.” Joan smiled. “It’s easy enough winter work, milady. Easier by far than that weaving you do. Most grand ladies would reserve the light work for themselves. Like Herself over in Carlisle. That one never does anything more strenuous than a teeny bit of embroidery. But no, you leave us to do the light work while you take for yourself a share of the more the heavy work. Here. Let me feed the fire.” Anne laughed, threw up her hands and went back to her loom. She removed her work apron, and pulled back on her gloves. “Work no longer than another hour at the stockings, then see Mistress Giddings for your supper. When the stockings are all done, we begin the cutting and sewing of new clothes for all the staff. With all of us working, we should be able to finish in a fortnight. I shall be in the stillroom if I am needed.” “Yes, m’am,” the servants acknowledged. Joan spoke up. “Milady, that was kind of you, what you are doing for Sally and Thom. I know it means a lot to her.” Anne smiled. “I’d do the same for any of you.” “We know this. And the staff loves you for it. You’ve always been taking care of us before you take care of yourself,” Joan replied. “You make sure we get new clothes once a year. New shoes each fall. Now, forgive me for speaking out of turn. But when was the last time you did anything for yourself that someone didn’t push on you? Yes, you had eight fine new gowns this fall, when you put off mourning, but only because Lord Solway presented you with the fine fabric for the gowns as a gift on your birthday. I can’t think of a time in the last few years that you did anything for yourself at all.” Anne looked at Joan. She felt her anger rise. But she tamped it back because she knew the servant was speaking out of concern for her. It was important to take care of her people. What had she needed? She had spent most of the last few years wearing black, living quietly, mourning one relative or another. First for Anthony and the twins, then for her brothers, then for her father, then for her mother, and finally for Jane and her cousin’s children. It had only been since September that she had been out of mourning. It had been to mark the end of her long mourning that her son had given her the colored fabrics for new clothes. “After an hour, go take your supper. Then you have the evening to yourselves. There will be music and dancing in the great hall. You are welcome to come listen and even to form up your own lines and circles for the country dances.”


***** Anne was alone in her stillroom, preparing the tincture to reduce the chance of conceiving. This was an old receipt passed down through the generations of the women in her family. Anne had brought the seeds for this collection of herbs with her when she came here as a young bride. Each year, she had planted a large bed of these, dried the leaves and flowers, and kept them to use for herself and for any married woman who asked for help in maintaining her health by spacing out her children. There were many who would see this practice of rendering a woman temporarily sterile as an abomination. Anne knew the arguments. But, she couldn’t feel badly about it. Too many women were worn out with childbearing, having a baby each year. Too many women died in childbirth. Surely God wouldn’t have made such green herbs bearing seed, which the Bible said were set apart for the use of man, if He had not intend them to be used. She looked at the preparation. It would be ready to bottle in the morning. For today, she would brew a tissane of the leaves and seeds. That should be sufficient. From now on, she would take seven drops of the tincture each day. Rob wouldn’t like this. Most men didn’t like the idea of interfering in the natural course of reproduction. But they didn’t have to bear the babes, to suffer the risks of being with child. She couldn’t imagine that he would be marrying at all again, if he didn’t want a son and heir. To deny him this would be cheating him of one of the benefits of marriage. But, it—like much about this marriage—wasn’t anything that he needed to know. She sighed heavily as she put the seeds into a pestle and ground them coarsely. She’d put a small kettle of water on to boil earlier. A glance at the fireplace told her that the water was hot. Cheating Rob. That could be the subtitle of a book written about this marriage. Cheating Rob, Using Rob, Betraying Rob. All appropriate. It hurt to think that she was doing this when all she wanted was to be a true wife to him. She put the herbs into an infuser cup, a large earthenware cup in which sat a smaller removable cup that had a series of tiny holes in the bottom to allow the herbs to stay in and the water to strain out. The herbs went into the smaller cup then she ladled the hot water over them, put on the lid to hold in the heat, and let the brew steep for ten minutes. Anne watched as the liquid drained out of the smaller cup as she lifted it from the larger cup. The color was right. It was of the correct strength. She added a large spoon of malt syrup and stirred it. Then she drank the brew down. She had never liked the sharp taste of this particular tissane. But it was necessary. Like so much else in her life, it was merely necessary. And necessity was a harsh taskmistress. Placing an innocent infant at hazard was not something she could do. Were things to go badly, were she to be found to be working for Charles’ cause, she would be executed by Cromwell’s government as a traitor. She had heard rumors that some Roundhead units had summarily executed children along with their parents. She hadn’t been able to verify that. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, take that chance. As it was, the potential consequences of being caught were ghastly. Adding more people to be harmed was not a good idea.


***** When she returned to the Hall, she saw that the painting was nearly done. The artist was just putting the expression on Rob’s face. She walked over into Rob’s direct line of sight, taking almost nearly the place where she had stood for her own sitting. Rob smiled at her. It was a loving smile punctuated by clear desire in his eyes. Anne smiled at him in return. Anne stood there for a moment, then sat down in the gold brocade covered chair just behind her and to her left. “Master Goodwin is nearly done with the portrait, Sir Robert,” Anne said quietly. “Good,” Rob growled through unmoving lips. Anne chuckled. “Be grateful that you are only here a day. I spent several days over nearly three weeks here sitting on the rest of the portrait.” “You are more patient than I,” Rob said to her. “Sir Robert, please,” James Goodwin, the artist, begged. “Only a little while longer, I beg of you.” Goodwin continued to paint. “Done, my lady, Sir Robert,” Master Goodwin said as he stepped back and looked at his work. “Thank the Lord!” Rob said with feeling. “Don’t blaspheme, Sir Robert,” Anne chided. “It wasn’t blasphemy,” he replied. “Any longer standing in one place and I would have screamed.” Master Goodwin, the painter said, “This needs until noon tomorrow to dry. Then I will frame it. Do you want it hung above the mantle in here?” The current Lord Solway shot his mother a hurt look. Anne saw that and understood. “I believe that we will instead hang the last portrait that was done of the late Lord Solway with his children and I above the mantle in the great Hall. This portrait will hang above the mantle in my private parlour for now. Once Garrick Hall has been rebuilt, the new portrait can hang there in a place of honor. Yet, this is still Solway’s house. Once he marries, he can replace the portrait of his birth family with one of himself and his bride. And later of his wife and children.” Rob nodded. “Ever wise, my lady. Ever wise,” he said gently. Anne only wished she felt wise. She watched as the artist moved the easel and the portrait to a corner of the room so that it faced away from view. “Supper will be served soon. After supper, we shall have music and dancing,” Anne told them.


Rob smiled at her. Then his expression became serious. “You look tired, my lady.” “It has been a long day, Sir Robert,” she said as she rose to her feet and walked over to the table. “Milady,” Sally asked as she walked up behind Anne. “Mistress Giddings asks if you and your guests are ready for supper to be laid?” Anne turned to face the girl. “Tell Mistress Giddings that we await the arrival of the Mistresses Norris. Once they have come, we shall be ready for supper.” “Yes, m’am,” Sally replied. “Oh, and Thomas thanks you kindly and accepts the offer of the cottage.” Anne smiled. “You see to it that the banns are called starting on Sunday, then.” Sally nodded. “Yes, m’am. That’s the plan.” “I wish you happy, Sally.” “Thank ye kindly, m’am. By your leave, I’ll go to Mistress Giddings now, m’am, with your answer.” “Indeed.” John, Earl Solway, walked over to his mother. “Sally’s marrying Thom Wilson?” “That’s their plan, my son,” Anne replied. “And you are giving them the use of which cottage?” John demanded. “Charlie Riggs’, Solway,” Anne told her son, although she was perturbed at being questioned. John nodded. “Aye. That is a good decision. The cottage is close by the stables.” Anne smiled tightly as the Mistresses Norris were announced. Cordelia Norris, the widow of the former Rector, was a well-preserved woman in her early forties. Her oldest daughter was twenty-two year old Caroline. The middle was twenty year old Elizabeth. The youngest was fourteen year old Katherine. Cordelia was the granddaughter of the previous Earl of Suffolk and a cousin, albeit at some distance, of the current Earl. Caroline and Elizabeth Norris supported the family by running a day school for the children of the Hepburn tenants and the servants. Anne provided the Norris family the house that had been the formerly reserved for an estate agent, and a sum of twenty pounds a year.

***** Supper was laid out. A vegetable soup with barley and the dried beef broth they made every fall at butchering time, with long loaves of crisp “french” bread began the arrangement. Another tureen of a second soup, a meatless lentil and rice soup, followed. The soups were followed by carp pie, crisp breaded fried oysters, pickled pike fillets with a lemon sauce, a platter of crisp cakes made from leftover salmon, stewed gurnets in a claret sauce, preserved purslane stalks, picked herring, the Queens’ pottage—a thick dish of almond milk, roast partridge, reconstituted dried mushrooms and pomegranates—stewed sausages with a currant-wine sauce, and a chopped salad of pickled onions and


cucumbers. A hot apple-raisin pudding, an orange pudding, preserved quinces, and cheeses brought up the rear, along with rolled sugar wafers, a cookie known as “Naples” biscuits, and a nut cookie called jumballs. Toward bedtime, there would be another course of sweets and hot alcoholic drinks to send them all off to bed about ten. Normally, she wouldn’t serve meat at all during Advent, but the last thing she could appear to be was a recalcitrant Anglican. She’d already been accused of keeping Advent. “Anglican” and “Royalist” went together in many minds. Suspicion about her religious views could lead to suspicion of her political sympathies. That would be dangerous in the extreme, especially now. The flesh meat and the broth-based soup was for any of the guests who wanted it. Anne herself wouldn’t eat meat again until after sundown tomorrow when Christmas began. She forced herself to eat a selection of the fish, having little true appetite. Yet, she gave the appearance of enjoying her food. Her mind was on tomorrow and whether she could actually make those public promises to Rob, knowing they were in bad faith. The Norris girls were behaving in only the most proper of fashions to the gentlemen. But Anne could see that Caroline and Sir Nathaniel were attracted to one another. Likewise, Major Clay seemed to be getting interested in Elizabeth, who by all appearances was returning the interest. And surprisingly enough Cordelia and Joshua Fielding were finding themselves of like mind on many issues, as she had been for many years a parson’s wife. She met Rob’s eyes across the table. He smiled at her. She returned the smile, genuinely. “Which dances shall we perform tonight after supper?” Anne asked her guests. Caroline laughed softly. “There are four couples, my lady? Will you and your betrothed be dancing?” “There are four couples,” Anne replied. Caroline thought for a moment, “That would limit us to the longwise and the rounds for as many as will, as well as The Glory of the West, Argeers, Rufty Tufty, Saint Martins… What am I missing?” Solway smiled and spoke, “Parson’s Farewell, Cuckholds all a Row, and Heart’s Ease, I believe.” “My lord Solway, I do believe you are correct,” Cordelia Norris replied with a smile. Katherine added quietly, “I believe Hit or Misse is also for four couples.” John smiled at Katherine. “I believe that you are correct Mistress Katherine.” Anne did not miss the look of affection in her son’s eye. Or the answering affection in Katherine’s. Oh, dear! This could prove interesting. Although John thought of himself as a man, he was still a boy. An emotional entanglement could prove disastrous just now, robbing him of the opportunity to go to University. Anne looked at Cordelia Norris and saw that she was noticing the same thing. And she was no more pleased with this than Anne herself was. “My lord Solway, do you furnish the music for us this evening?” Cordelia asked, drawing John’s attention momentarily from her youngest daughter.


“Nay, Mistress Norris. We have several servants who are skilled at performance. I may play a tune or two throughout the evening, yet, most of the entertainment shall be provided by the musicians,” John answered with a smile. “I pray Mistress Katherine would allow me to lead her out in at least one dance this evening.” Katherine didn’t even look at her mother for permission. “Of course, my lord. I would be honored. Step Stately is for five couples. And there are many dances for as many as will.” “Indeed there are,” Anne agreed, not wanting to give this affection between the two children unnecessary attention. Likely, it was calf-love.

***** Dancing filled the next few hours; dancing and watching Katherine and John interact with one another. Anne became convinced that this was more than a simple crush between her son and the youngest of the Norris ladies. There was attraction between the pair of them, attraction that had been explored. How extensively she did not know, although she feared that the children had been intimate. The pair of them were too easy with one another. There was too much knowledge in their eyes for this to be an unexplored desire. When did this happen? Anne made a mental note to talk to her son about his responsibilities as the Earl of Solway, and as a man. They’d had the “sex “ talk several years ago. About ten o’clock, the servants brought in mugs of hot spiced wine and chargers filled with sweetmeats. Everyone ate and drank, then made off to bed. Anne dismissed her servants once they had her down to her chemise and her hair brushed out. She braided it into a single plait tied with a ribbon. Anne locked her hallway door. She threw on a quilted dressing gown, picked up a five-branched candelabrum, and went to the connecting door linking her chamber with Rob’s. She knocked once on the door. He came to the door and opened it. Standing there in a long nightshirt and slippers, he looked dark and dangerous. “Hello, Nan.” “Rob,” she began. “Will you allow me to make love to you?”

Chapter Four

Rob smiled at her. “Have I ever given you cause to believe me to be stupid?” “Never.”


“Then why would you think I would turn you away?” “I’m hoping you won’t think me wanton.” “I know better.” Anne fought, and lost the fight with, the blush. “Your bed or mine?” “Yours,” she told him. He stepped out of the way and let her walk over to the bed. She placed the candelabrum on the table beside the bed. The she turned around to find him standing just two paces from her. “You walk quietly, Rob.” “I do lots of things quietly, Nan.” She chuckled. “Do you now? How interesting,” she said as she peeled off the robe and let it fall unheeded to the floor. Then she untied the drawstring at her chemise neckline and pulled that garment off her shoulders and let it fall to a puddle at her feet. Rob drew a deep breath. “Does my body please you, Rob?” she asked. He swallowed hard. “Aye, Nan. Greatly.” She stepped towards him. Unbuttoning the placket on the night-shirt, she reached down and pulled it off over his head and dropped it to the floor. “We were entirely too hasty earlier today,” she told him as she placed her arms around him, allowing her hands to rest on his ass. Rob drew a deep shuddering breath. “I want to learn to please you,” she told him. “Oh, Nan,” he said on a whisper, “you have that reversed. It is my job to pleasure you.” “Really? Then shouldn’t you begin?” she teased. “I can tell you are going to be a demanding wife,” he said as he touched her face. His hands traveled down her throat to her chest and came to cup her breasts. “And you find that unacceptable?” she asked him, her voice careful. “I find this room cold. Come get in bed.”


Anne laughed quietly then stepped back from him. The bed had been turned down. A warmed brick had been placed in the foot of the bed, to heat up the cocoon of sheets and quilted counterpane. Anne climbed into bed, and snuggled under the covers, as she watched as Rob walked around and locked his door. He is so handsome!she thought.And he’s mine. Just looking at him took her breath away. “Disturbances are decidedly unwelcome just now,” he explained as he climbed into bed and under the covers. “That they would be,” she said as she snuggled closer to him. “I was just debating about coming to your bed,” Rob admitted. “What stopped you?” “The prospect that I might not be welcome, Nan. You’ve had a long day. And I wasn’t exactly gentle or considerate with you this morning. I am sorry for that.” “It takes two, Rob. If I had found your attentions unwelcome, I would have stopped them.” “I’m stronger than you are, “ Rob said, disgust in his voice. “You wouldn’t ever force intimacy on any woman.” “So much confidence in me,” Rob said his voice thoughtful. “Do you trust me that much?” “Do you think I would be here, now, if I failed to trust you?” Anne said, her voice both quiet and hurt. But she knew that she didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him. It bothered her to lie to him. Rob lightly kissed her forehead, obviously upset at himself for annoying her. “Sweeting, I apologize for upsetting you.” Anne could hardly tell him that she was annoyed at herself and not at him. “‘Tis no matter, Rob. Just hold me for a moment.” “Is that all you want?” “Only the beginning.” He chuckled lowly. It was a satisfied very male chuckle. Anne kissed his earlobe. Then she moved her mouth to trace light kisses down his neck. At the jointure of his neck and shoulder, she lingered. “Woman, you are tempting me.” “That was the idea,” she told him, just before she moved her mouth down the dark hair of his chest to


come to rest on the dark nubs of his nibbles. He drew a shuddering breath as her lips closed around his nipples and she began to lightly, teasingly, suck on them. “Nan!” She lifted her head and looked at him from under the sheets and counterpane. She could make out his face in the faint gold of the candlelight. “Would you prefer that I stop?” “Nay, lady!” “Then hush and let me love you.” “You realize that when you are done, I intend to reciprocate?” “That presumes that you will have the energy to do aught but sleep.” He reached behind her and swatted her ass sharply. “And what was that in aid of?” she demanded. “Don’t insult my manhood, woman!” he growled in a teasing voice. “This manhood?” she teased as she closed her hand around his hard quimstake. “Why would anyone insult a wondrous thing like this?” Then she began planting a line of kisses down his chest, down his stomach, and ending by kissing his balls. He moaned slightly. She licked his quimstake from the tip down the length of the shaft. “It’s a lovely quimstake, Robert. Hard and broad and simply the right size. Perfect for me, in fact.” Then she took him into her mouth. With slow up and down movements of her mouth, she made him moan repeatedly over the course of several moments as she gave him oral sex. She had never done this before. And she hoped that those moans were of pleasure instead of pain. Anthony and she, although they had loved one another deeply, had possessed a rather staid love life. Anthony always had asked permission to come to her and then their couplings had been mostly limited to his pleasure. “Woman!” Rob moaned. She removed her mouth from him. “Was there any doubt as to my sex?” she teased him. “I certainly hope not!” he said lowly as she moved to lie atop him. Anne chuckled before she kissed his lips. That kiss started as a light, teasing caress but exploded into passion almost as soon as it began.


Rob rolled them over, pinning her down under him. He lifted his lips from her. “Your turn, milady,” he told her, his voice low and holding sensual promise. Anne smiled at him. “Why do you wait?” “Eager are you?” “Eager for you.” He smiled and planted a light kiss on her forehead. “Be eager a while longer.” Then he began to kiss her left ear, her neck, her throat, the upper swell of her breasts, and the valley between her breasts. She stirred restlessly beneath him. Rob smiled. It was such a joy to have a woman actually want his touch. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her waiting quiff. But, he had been entirely too rough with her earlier. He needed to show her, to show himself, that he could also be gentle, tender, and give her as much pleasure as she gave him. His lips closed over her left nipple. Anne drew a shaking breath, then arched into him, offering him more. He wasn’t slow in taking that offer. His lips teased and suckled first one breast, then the other, teasing her into a deeper state of arousal, teasing himself. How he wanted her! So much for gentleness. Right now, all he wanted was to bury himself in her, to possess her with all the fierceness of the passion he felt for her. “Nan?” he whispered as he lifted his mouth from her breast. “Rob?” “I’m sorry, I thought I could enjoy the play. But my need for you is just too strong.” She smiled at him. “Then come to me, Rob. Fill me.” “Not so fast, my lovely,” he told her as he moved off her to lie on his left side next to her. “Not so fast.” “Ah, but you were the one who said the time for play was at an end.” “Spread your legs for me,” he told her. She laughed softly. “Such a difficult request.” “Indeed,” he answered as she complied. Nothing could have surprised her more than the gentleness of his touch as his fingers parted the folds of her quiff. Without any hesitation, he found that most sensitive of nubs of flesh, her clitoris.


He rubbed it lightly, circling, teasing. “Would you like for me to give you pleasure with my hands?” “With your mouth,” she answered. Rob chuckled. “Ah, you enjoy that?” “I think I’d enjoy anything you would give me,” she told him. “Anything is a very broad amount of discretion, indeed,” he observed in a low tone that sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. “You trust me that much?” There was that dreaded T-word again, Anne thought, her mood shifting away from passion. She thought for a moment how to answer him. “A woman is always at risk with a man. I’ve provided treatment to more than one woman who suffered injury at the hands of a man. For me to even be here, now, speaks of my trust in you. Love me, Rob.” “I do. And I will. I will be gentle with you, even if it kills me,” he promised her. “You will never suffer harm at my hands.” “Not too gentle, I trust, Robbie. Not too gentle,” she urged him.

His fingers continued to play with her clitoris and to arouse her further. He slid one finger into her, then another, while using his thumb on her clit. “You are so responsive, so giving,” he told her in wonder. “You’re driving me mad,” she answered. “You are so wet and warm, it is all I can do not to fuck you now.” “Do not restrain yourself, Robbie. Come to me, fill me, love me. I want you desperately.” He positioned himself above her, and settled in between her thighs. Slowly, with care, he slid his quimstake into her hot quiff. Anne wrapped her legs around his hips. “Hard, Rob.” “Sweeting, are you sure?” “Hard!” He obliged her. Anne wrapped her arms around him and held on as he gave and took himself to and from her. She lost herself in the need, the sensation, he was creating within her. He was taking her headlong into ecstasy. She recognized that she was not far from orgasm. It had never been hard for her to achieve her own pleasure solo. But with Rob, it was even easier than ever to reach that plateau, and so much more satisfying.


Rob looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. Who was she making love to? Him or her dead husband? Suddenly, he had to know. “Look at me, Nan!” he ordered in a fierce and low voice. “Look at me!” She looked into his eyes. He was stunned by the desire and even the love he saw reflected there. “Rob!” she cried out in a hushed and awed voice as he felt the spasms of her release begin. That was all he needed to know. He couldn’t make himself wait any longer. The contractions of her muscles around him were driving him over the brink. Rob gave a low moan then Anne felt the warm spurt of his semen fill her. Rob collapsed onto her. He lay there, dropping light kisses on her face. When he could speak again, he said lowly, “Nan, I’m sorry for the rush. You make me feel eager as a callow lad. I fear I just showed you that level of skill and pleasure as well as that level of eagerness.” Anne laughed softly. “Do you hear me complaining?” If only things were different, she thought in regret,there might be a child of this union. But as long as they were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, as long as she would be considered “traitor” if discovered, she couldn’t risk conceiving his son. There was enough risk here, she didn’t need to place an innocent life in jeopardy as well. This was the way this was. There simply was no help for it. She only wished it didn’t hurt so much. She only wished she didn’t love him so much. “No,” Rob said after he rolled off her. Anne looked at him and blinked twice.Did I think aloud? she wondered in panic. He leaned up on an elbow and looked down at her, his face clearly concerned. “Although you have every reason to complain,” he said as he stroked her face. “My sweet lady, you have every possible cause to complain. Today, I have shown you less consideration than any gentleman should ever show a lady.” Her relief was tangible. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, “We have time, Rob. We have time. I shouldn’t have come to you tonight. This was wrong. Forgive me.” “Nothing between us could ever be wrong, Nan, my lovely. There is nothing to forgive.” “Others would not be so kind.” “Others can kiss my arse.” Anne laughed. “Oh no, my dear. I believe that is my right.”


He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled. “Do you want to kiss my arse?” “Do you know how cute your backside is?” she replied, with a smile. “Why should I find kissing it any less appealing than kissing your handsome face?” Rob laughed softly. “Oh, Nan! Our life together is going to be anything except boring.” Then he yawned. “Be at ease, Rob. Be at ease, my love. Allow me to hold you until you fall asleep.” He yawned again. Then he placed his head on his pillow. Anne stroked his face. “Sleep now. You have had a long few weeks of little rest on the trip.” “The roads were not good. The beds in the Inns left much to be desired. And I longed to be here with you.” “Sleep now. Shall I go downstairs and brew you a sleeping draught?” she offered. Rob yawned. “No. I believe I have no need for that.” “Did you see the way that Solway was looking at Katherine Norris?” Anne asked. “Yes. They are quite taken with one another. It’s likely calf-love.” “I fear it may be more than that.” Rob yawned. “He’s your son. I will take whatever acts you believe I should. Would you have me have speech with him?” “No. I believe that would be counterproductive. Already, he is less than enamored of the prospect of my remarrying.” “So I’ve determined,” Rob said with a yawn as his eyes drooped. “Sleep now. We’ll have speech on the morrow.” Anne could not sleep. She lay beside him looking at him sleep until the candles burnt themselves out. Anne wasn’t a woman to run from the truth. And she wasn’t going to run from this one. She was in love with Robert Garrick, body and soul. Somehow, that made what she had been ordered to do all that more difficult.

***** Anne awoke to the sensation of being looked at. She forced open her eyes. Rob leaned up on one elbow looking down at her. “Good morrow, Rob.” “My lady.”


“What is the hour, do you know?” “The sun has not yet completely risen.” “Ah,” she said as she touched his chest and ran her hand lightly down to his groin. She encircled his erect quimstake with her hand. “The sun may not yet be risen, yet you are.” Rob chuckled. “Aye, my lady. Now, what do you intend to do about it?” “What would you have me to do about it?” “Anything you desired.” “Ah, shall I tell you of my desires?” she told him. “I await your pleasure.” “Rightfully, you should wait, at least until after the marriage ceremony.” “We’ve already gone over that fence, my dearest.” She nodded. “My maid will be coming up soon. I must at least make my bed appear to have been slept in.” “Do you think your maid will care where you slept?” “No.” Rob kissed her forehead. “I do love you.” Anne nodded. “I know this.” “Tell me of your desires.” Anne shook her head denying the request to share. Rob looked at her. “Why not?” “We don’t know each other that well, yet.” He chuckled. “Are your desires shocking?” “You might well think so.” “Tell all, woman!” “Nay. A woman should have some mystery about her.” Rob smiled at her, then he teased her. “Do you know what I do with women who will not share their desires with me?”


“Nay, I do not,” Anne answered, entering into the spirit of the game. “There is a penalty for sharing my bed without sharing your thoughts,” Rob told her. “Is there?” she teased him. “Aye,” he answered seriously. “I will have your thoughts and desires from you, woman.” “I do not wish to share them.” “Are you willing to pay the penalty for not sharing?” “I am unwilling to share my thoughts.” “Then you are willing to pay the penalty?” “I suppose I must be.” Rob smiled at her, then he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Very well,” he told her as he sat up in bed and pulled her face down across his lap. The sheets and eiderdown barely covered her, although they left his chest exposed to the cold of the room. “Anytime you wish me to stop, you can simply tell me what it is that you are unwilling to share.” “Rob!” she cried softly as he applied his open hand to her bare buttocks. The place where his hand had fallen stung, and was oddly stimulating. The sting of his hand translated into desire. This was one thing she had never imagined, that pain could lead to pleasure. She didn’t know what to make of that. Yet, there was no denying the heat and heaviness that had settled in her womb as a result of his striking her. She rather liked it. He struck her again, lightly, across the ass. “Nan?” “Thank you sir. May I have another?” she begged. He chuckled quietly, then smacked her arse again. Anne felt his quimstake hard and hot beneath her belly as the warmth of the stroke spread once more to her quiff. His right hand went from her arse to the soft folds of her quiff and he began to tease her into a larger state of arousal as he found and lightly rubbed her clit. Then he struck her once more with his left hand this time, keeping his right hand occupied with arousing her. Anne moaned. But Rob knew that it was a sound of pleasure. It was only a matter of moments of this play that Anne felt herself perched at the brink of release. Rob, feeling her tense, probed her quiff and was rewarded by her muscles spasming around his fingers. He couldn’t believe, really couldn’t believe, how responsive she was to him. Yet, the evidence was overwhelming. Rob counted himself among the luckiest of men.


“Nan?” Rob asked as her breathing settled down. “Have you had enough of this?” “For now.” “I still wish to know what your desires are.” Anne rose to her hands and knees. Then she positioned herself so that she was on her knees facing him with her legs astride his hips. His quimstake was less than an inch away from entering her. She shifted her hips and took his hard, hot, quimstake inside her. “Kiss my breasts.” Yet, Rob had different ideas. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, held her tightly against him. His mouth covered hers. Although he started the kiss, within a moment, the passion was mutual. Then he broke the caress and moved his mouth slowly down her chin and throat until he was doing as she had asked. Combining the sensation of his hard quimstake inside of her quiff and the warm wetness of his mouth on her breasts was nearly overwhelming. Yet she didn’t want it to end. She moved her hips and discovered that sitting face to face was good for a feeling of intimacy with him, but not so good for moving her hips or for allowing him to thrust. Rob lifted his head from her breasts. “I need more,” he told her. She nodded, knowing precisely what he meant. Anne lifted herself away from him, and moved sideways on the bed, still on her knees. He slid down in the bed. “Take the upper hand, Nan.” She smiled. “Are you certain?” “I can’t think of much I would like more than to watch you love me.” “And I can’t think of much I would desire more than to make love with you.” “Why do you delay?” She shook her head as to dismiss his comment then moved so that she held him between her thighs. Slowly, to allow herself to enjoy this, she lowered her wet quiff onto his quimstake. Anne doubted that she would ever take for granted the pleasure she felt in their lovemaking. It seemed a miracle to her each time that he touched her and made her feel such soul deep pleasure, each time that he was able to give her the release she had experienced only rarely during her marriage to Anthony. Rob’s hands went to her hips. He wordlessly urged her to set a quick pace in her hip movements. Neither of them was in a mood for leisure. Both of them wanted a headlong rush into release. Impatiently, wanting more after a few minutes of enjoying watching her, touching her breasts, playing with their fullness, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, as he let her do the work, Rob began to thrust, increasing the tempo of this mating dance. Both of their breaths were coming fast and


hard, almost as fast and hard as their hips were moving. Anne closed her eyes and threw back her head as her pleasure built to the crescendo. The spasms of her release drove him over the edge. He shuddered with his orgasm as she gently collapsed to lie on him. Lying there, moments later, he realized dimly that she had to be feeling the cold in the room. Until now, he hadn’t really noticed it. He reached down and pulled the sheets and eiderdown over them. “I love you, Nan.” Her breathing had almost slowed down to normal. But, what was normal around him? “Rob,” she told him on a whisper, “just hold me.” “As long as you wish it, my dearest,” Rob told her. “If you held me as long as I would wish it, we would never leave this bed,” she told him. “Sounds to be an excellent idea to me, Nan.” “The world will not let us hide here, although we may wish to.” “’STAY, O sweet, and do not rise; The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, Because that you and I must part. Stay, or else my joys will die, And perish in their infancy,’” Rob recited the poem with the feeling the poet intended. “The late Doctor Donne would roll over in his grave if he thought his poetry was still this well known,” Anne replied as she kissed Rob’s cheek. “Aye. He did his best to burn it all when he began to publish his sermons.” Anne smiled. Another poem of Donne’s that suited the moment came to her mind, and she adapted it for a woman’s voice, “’Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I At the last must part, ‘tis best, Thus to use myself in jest By feigned deaths to die. Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here to-day; She hath no desire nor sense, Nor half so short a way; Then fear not me, But believe that I shall make Speedier journeys, since I take More wings and spurs than she. O how feeble is woman’s power, That if good fortune fall, Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall; But come bad chance, And we join to it our strength, And we teach it art and length, Itself o’er us to advance. When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st not wind, But sigh’st my soul away; When thou weep’st, unkindly kind, My life’s blood doth decay. It cannot be That thou lovest me as thou say’st, If in thine my life thou waste, That art the best of me. Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfil. But think that we Are but turn’d aside to sleep. They who one another keep Alive, ne’er parted be.’” Rob kissed her forehead. “You are as witty and wise as you are beautiful.” “Nay. I am only a woman who has a day’s work ahead of her,” she said. “There is always work to be done.”


“Your most important work is right here, loving me.” “Once we are wed. Until then, I am still mistress of this house and there are guests present. They would not think kindly of me, if I did not see to their breaking their fasts.” “You have a cook for that. Mistress Giddings, was that not her name?” Anne yawned. “If I lay with you much longer, I shall sleep again.” Rob yawned in return. “And what, lady, would be wrong with that?” “I should sleep away the day, if I slept now.” “None could fault a woman for getting sleep while she could. I’m certain few expect you to have much sleep in the coming night,” Rob said quietly. “If I do not rise now, everyone will know that I had little sleep in the night just past,” Anne said with more resolve than she felt. All she wanted was to stay in bed with him and to tell the world to go away. But, life didn’t work that way.

Chapter Five

Anne and Rob stood at the front of the family chapel with the late afternoon light streaming through the colored glass windows. The small diamonds of colored glass threw a rich jewel-toned pattern onto the marble floor. The maids had taken her green velvet and had lightly tacked bridal favors to it, tiny gold and silver braided bows that people would pull from her gown after the ceremony. Rob’s cousin, Joshua Fielding, had already given the opening prayer and was now instructing them—and the assembled crowd of Anne’s son, the household servants, the tenants, the four Mistresses Norris, Sir Nathaniel, and Major Clay—about the institution, ends, and use of marriage as well as encouraging the bridal couple to live together faithfully, peacefully, and with respect for one another. Then Joshua solemnly charged them both that if they knew any impediment to their marriage that they now confess it. Anne looked at Rob and smiled. He smiled at her in return. Then Joshua asked the assembled group, “If any here know of any impediment to this couple becoming man and wife, you are bid to disclose it, or else hereafter hold your peace.” No one spoke up.


“Hearing no objections to this marriage, Robert will you take Anne’s right hand in yours?” Joshua asked. “You know the form of the words.” “I, Robert Edward, do take thee, Anne Elizabeth, to be my married wife, and do in the presence of God and before this congregation, promise and covenant to be a loving and faithful husband unto thee, until God shall separate us by death.” “Anne, take Robert’s right hand in yours, and make your declaration,” Joshua instructed. “I, Anne Elizabeth, do take thee Robert Edward to be my married husband, and do in the presence of God and before this congregation, promise and covenant to be a loving and faithful wife unto thee, until God shall separate us by death.” Only then did Anne realize that she had left out the promise to be obedient. Rob smiled at her and only by the largest amount of self-restraint held in the laugh that was obviously bubbling up from within him. Joshua Fielding looked startled for a moment. Then he drew a breath and continued. “Insomuch as Robert and Anne have this day and before this company joined hands and have taken one another in wedlock, I pronounce that they be man and wife together. Let us pray. Heavenly Father, bless these two of your children newly joined in marriage. Bless them with all the comforts and fruits of marriage that their home may be a haven of peace and blessing for all, through Christ our Lord, Amen.” Everyone echoed the “Amen”. Anne and Rob left the chapel and went to the Hall. The musicians followed close by and began to play William Byrd’s quite livelyJhon Come Kiss Me Now. By the time that almost five-minute piece was done, the crowd from the chapel had all made it into the Hall. “Friends!” Rob called to the noisy crowd. Everyone quieted down. Rob laughed. “Thank you for sharing this day with Lady Robert and myself. When the food is served, I beg you to eat heartily and join us in dance to celebrate this marriage.” John spoke up as the great bowl of wassail was brought into the hall, “Indeed, join me in drinking to the health and happiness of my mother and her new husband.” Everyone took the opportunity to get a cup of the hot wassail. John continued, “To Sir Robert and my mother, Lady Robert, may their joys be great and their troubles small.” All raised their cups to the newlyweds. Then once the Hall was quiet once more, John spoke, “As Mother is no longer Lady Solway, pray allow me to introduce the new Lady Solway. My dearest, come, stand beside me.” Everyone looked around the room. Anne had the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Katherine


Norris came forward to stand beside John. Fourteen year old Kitty Norris took John’s hand in hers. Anne looked at Cordelia Norris. The other mother was clearly shocked beyond words. Cordelia did not recover her composure easily. John smiled at the young woman. “Lady Solway and I were married in Scotland three weeks ago.” Anne sighed. She knew her son well enough to know that he was telling the truth. She also knew that there was nothing to be done about this. Anne was certain that in three weeks they had consummated the marriage. There might even be a babe on the way. Both of them were too young under English law to wed here without parental consent, but English law recognized marriages in other countries. So, her son and Katherine were wedded and bedded, man and wife in the eyes of God and of the State. There was nothing to be done about it, but to put a good face on it. Anne hated this, but John had made his choice. She only hoped that he didn’t live to regret it. “My lady Solway, welcome to the family, my dearest daughter,” Anne said in the stunned silence of the room, forcing a smile. Katherine Norris Hepburn blushed prettily. “Thank you, Mother Garrick. I will make Solway happy. I promise you.” Anne only hoped, prayed, the child was right in that assessment. What did a fourteen year old child know of running an estate like Hepburn? Keeping things running smoothly here was a requirement to making John happy. “Raise your cups with me to the Earl and Countess Solway, may their happiness together know no bounds, and may their grown grandchildren someday stand in this hall and bless them in their hearing,” Anne said, blinking back tears, hoping that everyone thought they were tears of joy, instead of pain. After an especially elaborate supper of traditional Christmas foods ending with a flaming steamed pudding with hard sauce, the sets for dancing formed up. Anne met up with her son during the figures of a round dance. “Quite a surprise, Son.” “Aye, Mother,” John answered with a smile as they separated. “Happy Christmas.” Anne met up with Joshua Fielding. He smiled at her. “Matrimony is contagious.” “It would seem so, Doctor,” she agreed as they separated. Anne’s next partner was Sir Nathaniel. “Thank you, my lady, for introducing me to my future bride.” “We seem to have an outbreak of marriage,” Anne replied with a smile. “Indeed,” Sir Nathaniel answered as they parted in the dance. Henry Clay was Anne’s next partner. “Thank you so much for introducing me to Mistress Elizabeth. She has accepted my proposal of marriage.” Anne laughed. “I am pleased for you.”


Rob was Anne’s next partner. “Wife, you are a matchmaker,” he teased her. “It would seem that way.” “Both my cousins and my best friend are to wed Norris ladies.” Anne shook her head as she and Rob were separated and the dance continued. All Anne wanted was to excuse herself and to have a few moments away from prying eyes to compose herself. But that was a luxury she knew she couldn’t have. Her disappearing from her own party would be remarked upon, cause speculation, and undermine Katherine’s authority in the house. That, she couldn’t afford to do. With John married, the duties of mistress of this house were no longer hers. She only hoped that young Katherine was up to managing a house and the servants. When next she met with Rob, she told him, lowly, “They are so young.” “We all were young once,” Rob answered. “We grew out of it. So shall they.” Anne sighed. She had wanted so much for her son. And now, he would never go to University. He wouldn’t broaden his view of the world much beyond Hepburn. That hurt. But, he had made his choice in life. He had rushed full headlong into manhood when that journey should have been a leisurely stroll. She watched as her son and his bride met in the figures of the dance. They looked so happy together! A footman, Ned, came to her during one of the dances she chose to sit out. All of the tenants had already departed. The only people in the house were the Mistresses Norris, Rob’s people, and the servants. “My lady, you are needed. Come with me, pray,” Ned said. She followed the footman to her private parlour where a cloaked and hooded figure lingered by the window. “How may I be of service?” Anne asked. The person near the window threw back the hood to his cloak and turned to face Anne. It was the messenger who had always come to her with royal commands. “Good evening, my lady,” he said as he handed her a letter. “Charles sends word and a gift for you.” He motioned to the table-top where a smallish, plain, hinged wooden box sat. Anne took the sealed letter, and broke the wax. She read the words. My lady, the king’s hand wrote, I have sent a small gift of my regard for you. Please accept this with my best wishes for your and Garrick’s marital happiness. Be good to my servant Garrick. He serves me faithfully. I need both of you in London for this upcoming session of Cromwell’s Parliament. Garrick needs all the allies he can have. I reward my faithful servants. Charles. With the sound of the door opening, Anne quickly crossed to the fire and prepared to feed the paper to the flames. The door closed. Anne looked up. Rob stood there, alone.


“Nan?” Rob asked in concern as he came to stand beside her. “Why have you left our guests?” “A wedding gift and letter of best wishes,” she replied. “From whom?” Rob asked. Anne drew a deep breath and handed him the letter, although her sense of self-preservation told her to burn it and never show it to him. Soon she would know the measure of the man she had married. Charles’ declaration that Rob was in his service gave Anne some sense of safety in showing him this. Yet this note had forced her to reassess and realign her thinking. Rob read it and smiled. “Well, this is unexpected.” “You said that we were of the same mind,” Anne answered in a small voice. “Aye, my dear, I did,” Rob told her. “I do not believe we need to retain this.” “No. I don’t believe so,” she answered lowly. “Are you going to open the box?” Rob asked her. Anne walked over to the box and opened it. Inside was a vial of perfume, nestled in a bed of amber-colored pieces of frankincense resin. Another note lay beneath the perfume and atop the bed of the chunks of resin. I recall, my lady, Charles hand had written, this is your favorite scent. It certainly suits you. I can think of nothing so appropriate of a Christmas gift/wedding gift than this. Except, of course, my pledge of an Earldom for Sir Robert at the happy conclusion of our business. Such a charming and faithful lady should be nothing less than a Countess. Rob read the note over her shoulder. She shook her head. “Our guests, husband, await us.” “So, wife, they do.” Anne turned to the messenger. “Tell your master that his gift was received with great gratitude. Will you stay for the dancing?” “No, milady. I must be off. I have much more to do before I return to my master,” the man said. “Godspeed you then, good sir. God give you a happy Christmas,” Anne said as she sent him on his way. “Thank you, milady. Blessings on this house and all who live within.” And then he left. “Charles has an eye for the ladies,” Rob said, a shade of jealousy creeping into his voice. Anne took the other note from Rob and fed both of them to the fire. “There is no need to use that tone with me, my husband.”


“One day people will speak of Charles as the father of his countrymen, or at least of a good many of them,” Rob observed. Anne laughed. “He does collect mistresses and bastards, does he not? Perhaps one day, he will marry and secure the succession. He certainly has proven his ability to father children.” “Then you can understand how uneasy it makes me to have him call you ‘charming and faithful’. “ “Better to be thought charming and faithful, than shrewish and whorish.” “Aye, wife,” Rob answered. “Much better.” Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Were you ever numbered about Charles’ bedmates?” Anger flashed in Anne’s eyes. “You impugn my honor in the asking.” “Perhaps. I would have an answer.” “That doesn’t deserve an answer. I won’t dignify that with an answer. Now, we had best return to our guests now, or people will be talking about us,” she told him, her voice as cold and frosty as the weather outside. Rob pulled her into his arms. “I don’t care in the least if people think I lure my lovely wife off in order to be private with her.” “How in the world can you insult me so grievously, then want to hold me?” she asked him. “Nan, my love, I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice gentle and genuinely contrite. “I have never been a jealous type until now. Yet, I find the idea of sharing you grievous in the extreme. Forgive me, my love.” Anne kissed her husband’s cheek, “I should be immensely angry at you. But I find myself incapable of retaining the anger when you hold me close and speak so gently.” “I shall remember that,” Rob told her with a wicked grin on his face. “Yes, you probably will,” she acknowledged quietly. Just then the current Earl Solway poked his head into the room. He laughed. Anne looked over at the door. “Come in, John, and close the door behind you.” Her son’s face fell. But, he complied. As he entered, Anne removed herself from her husband’s arms and turned to face her son. “What is it you desire, Mother?” he asked carefully. “Sir Robert and I will vacate the master suite and leave it for you and your bride. I’ve already spoken to the servants and they are moving our things into other rooms and are moving your and Katherine’s possessions into the master suite. Rob and I will take the dowager’s rooms.” “Thank you, Mother,” John said carefully, obviously waiting for the retribution he feared.


“Sir Robert and I will spend another week here before we remove to London,” she told him. “You are leaving?” “We can hardly stay here, under the circumstances.” “Mother!” John said with something akin to panic in his voice. “It was not my intention to force you away from your home.” “Force has naught to do with it. Rob needs to be in London when Parliament resumes on the twentieth of January. Had Hepburn been without a mistress, I would have allowed him to go on his own and would have remained here. But, since you have married, I am not needed here. In the fortnight’s time remaining, I will endeavor to leave Katherine detailed instructions concerning the management of the house and the staff. I will do what I can to make the transition smooth from one mistress to another,” Anne replied. “Thank you, my lady, I am certain that Kitty will appreciate that kindness. I know the staff looks to you for guidance,” John replied quietly. “For the sake of public appearances, I shall be pleased with this marriage. In reality, I am gravely disappointed in your choices.” John stiffened. Anne continued, “Katherine is a lovely, well-mannered girl, of a good family. Do not take my meaning wrong. I should have been utterly overjoyed to have you wed her if you had waited another few years until you were both more mature. I fear that she is too young to bear the full weight of being a married woman. Is she with child?” “Her monthly flux is late. We believe she may well be,” John replied, clearly embarrassed. Anne sighed heavily. “Very well. We shall wait and see.” “Happy Christmas, Mother.” “And a happy Christmas to you, my son,” Anne told him with affection in her voice. “You have made your choice of how you wish to live. This is now up to you to live it out successfully. I wish, I pray, for only the best things for you.” “Thank you, m’am.” “We should go rejoin our party now.” “Aye,” her son agreed. “We have left them alone for too long. Kitty’s mother was obviously not pleased with this marriage.” “Do you blame her? Kitty, Katherine, is only fourteen.” “Girls can marry at twelve in Scotland.” “I am aware of this. The age of consent is considerably higher in England however.”


“Which is why we married in Scotland,” John replied. Anne shook her head and sighed. “I pray that you do not regret this marriage.”

***** When Anne, Rob, and John returned to the hall, Cordelia was clearly quietly browbeating the young Countess. Anne put her hand on her son’s arm to stay him. Then she went over to her daughter-in-law and Cordelia. “Come ladies, let us reason together,” Anne said. “My dear,” Joshua Fielding stated, trying to intervene, “Katherine has married. I understand that this upsets you. Yet there is nothing you can do about it.” “We can have it annulled. They are under age,” Cordelia replied. “Would you have your grandchild born outside of wedlock?” Anne asked gently. Cordelia recoiled. “Grandchild?” “The children have been married for almost a month, Cordelia,” Anne said in a reasonable tone. “Is it so difficult to believe that she may be with child?” “You are happy about this, are you not?” Cordelia asked, suspiciously. “Nay. I believe both of them to be too young. This was not what I had planned for my son. The decision has been taken from us, however,” Anne replied. “Now, all we can do is to pray God for their happiness. I will do whatever I can to support them in their marriage. Can you not move beyond your own disappointment, Mistress Norris, and make the best of this situation?” Cordelia sighed. She touched her daughter’s face. “I do wish you well, Kitty dear.” Katherine smiled. “I know, Mother. Forgive me for causing you such distress, I beg you?” Cordelia nodded. “I understand that you failed to consider anyone else. Being young and in love tends to cloud a woman’s judgment,” she allowed. “One day, when you have a young daughter, you will understand how difficult this is for me.” Katherine took her husband’s hand. “All the Earl and I want is to make our life together here at Hepburn, to raise and love a large family here.” “It’s not as easy as it would seem,” Anne told her, “to run a great house with many servants. The lady of the house has to be skilled in every task in the house from cooking to cleaning, to preparing wool for carding, to being a healer for her tenants, to managing servants. I will teach you some of this. Some you will have to learn for yourself. But, you have to know it all. The health and happiness of your family, the staff, the tenants, and the neighborhood depend on the skill of the lady of the house.”


Katherine blanched. Anne was certain the child hadn’t thought in concrete terms before about her role as chatelaine of this great house. “But come,” Anne added kindly, “tonight is a time for celebrations. Work comes soon enough, my dear daughter. “ About ten o’clock the servants brought out hot drinks and dishes heaped up with sweets and savories. Everyone remaining ate and drank, then went off to bed.

***** Rob stood before the fireplace in the Dowager’s sitting room. The fire was burning brightly. Two brocade upholstered arm-chairs sat behind them. “This is the only set of rooms on this floor with fireplaces,” Anne explained. “These were my mother-in-law’s rooms. Toward the end of her life, the cold bothered her dramatically, and she was unable to walk very far, so Anthony had the fireplaces added to this room as well as to the bedroom in this suite. These rooms were the extent of her world.” Rob looked at his wife. “I know that Solway’s marriage is of concern to you.” Anne nodded tightly. “There is naught we can do about it. He has run headlong into adulthood. Now he has to live with it.” “The first good day, my friends and their intendeds are planning to cross into Scotland and wed,” Rob said. “Are they?” Anne asked, distracted. “Speak to me of the trouble that sits on your mind.” Anne pressed her lips together and blinked back the tears. Rob crossed over to her and took her in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder. She couldn’t contain the tears any longer. Long moments later, once her tears were spent, she said, “He’s ruining his life, Rob. He had so much ahead of him. He will be the first Hepburn since the time of Edward III not to get an Oxford education. His father would have been gravely disappointed in him over this. John has thrown away the University education he needs to prepare himself to serve his nation when Lords is restored.” “Assuming Lords is restored.” “It will be,” Anne replied. “I wish I could be that confident,” he said as he stroked her hair. Anne pulled away from him. “England can stand little more of the tender care of Cromwell,” she said in a


hushed voice. Rob nodded in agreement. “This much is true. Charles is the only logical choice to rule. Heaven knows that Richard Cromwell is not equal to the task of governing England. He is neither feared enough by the army nor respected enough by Parliament. So, who else is there to take the reins? Yet, I fear Charles would be a better monarch than he would be a king. England would embrace him enthusiastically, tired of the strictures of so-called Puritan morality, eager to forget this era ever existed, longing for some sense of normalcy. I see it clearly.” “The monarchy, even when restored as it must be, shall never be the same. Parliament has had entirely too much of a sense of itself, of its own power for that to be surrendered willingly. When Charles returns to England, he will be very much constrained by Parliament, without the royal prerogatives that marked his father’s and grandfather’s reigns,” Anne remarked quietly. “We may well see the first truly constitutional monarchy in the history of the world.” “I am not certain that would be a bad thing,” Rob said, his voice low. “Perhaps not,” she added with a sigh. “You know, you do not need to return to London with me,” Rob told her. “You can well stay here and help train your new daughter-in-law in her duties.” “No. My place is with you, now. John has declared himself an adult. Yet he remains a minor. I shall still have to sign many of the legal papers. But he is a married man now. It’s time to give him that chance. I shall appoint an estate agent before we leave, someone trustworthy, to help guide John in my absence.” “Ever wise.” “I wish I were.” “You appear quite weary.” “It was a night without much sleep preceding a long day,” she told him, with a yawn. “You will recall neither of us got much in the way of sleep last night.” “I recall,” he said with a smile. “You are so handsome when you sleep.” “As opposed to how I appear during the day?” he teased her. Anne chuckled. “I said nothing of that nature!” she protested. “Nay,” he agreed as he took her back into his arms. “I cannot resist teasing you, my dearest.” “And I cannot resist doing this,” she said just before she kissed him. Rob broke off the kiss and looked at her, seriously. “Nan, you still have not told me that you love me. In fact, you’ve studiously avoided giving me those words. Makes a man uneasy.” “Do you really think I would have married you, if I didn’t love you?” she demanded.


He looked at her for the longest moment. “I don’t know why you married me.” Anne closed her eyes and sighed. She stepped back out of his arms and turned away from him, to face the fire. She didn’t want to tell him the whole story. He didn’t need to know. Rob placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Nan, look at me.” She turned to face him. He spoke to her in a soft voice, “You’ve loved me with your body so sweetly. I’ve seen passion and tenderness in your eyes. Why should the words be difficult?” “Robbie,” she began, affection in her voice. “When I first received your proposal, I knew that you were a man I could come to love and that we could be happy together. Nothing in that assessment has changed with your presence here. Nothing, except that I did not realize the speed at which my learning could occur.” He smiled. “Have you learned to love me?” “Yes, dearest husband, I have. But words are cheap. Come to bed.” “Do we need a bed?” Rob asked her. Anne laughed. “No, good sir, we do not. We need only one another and a bit of privacy.” Rob smiled. “Not even necessarily guaranteed privacy. Anyone could have walked in on us yesterday in your sitting room.” “My staff is too well trained. And no one else would have dared,” Anne told him with a chuckle. “You are formidable, my dearest.” “Do I intimidate you, Robbie?” “You have me shaking in my boots,” he told her, brutally honest. Anne closed the distance between them. “At times, perhaps. Yet that has more to do with desire than fear,” she observed. “We both have on entirely too many clothes. Allow me to serve as your valet,” she said as she pushed his cape from his shoulders and undid the buckle holding on his sword. Placing those on a chair, she returned to her work undressing him. Anne sank to her knees before him and removed the metal butterfly ornament from the front of his boots. That ornament hid the attachment strap of his spurs. Off came the spurs. “Sit down, Robbie.” He chuckled. “Boots?” “Boots.” He stepped back and sat in the chair behind him. Anne pulled off one boot, then the other, and set them aside. Then slowly, allowing her fingers to linger


upon and tease his calves, she removed the lace boot socks that had covered his more serviceable stockings. Then she removed his black woolen stocking from his left foot. Her hands massaged his foot. He moaned lowly. “Woman!” “Such a strong foot,” she told him before she planted a light kiss on the inside of his ankle. Rob shuddered. “I told you, my love, that there is no part of you I would not kiss,” Anne stated as she put down his left foot and proceeded to give the right the same treatment. Rob’s voice was harsh with desire, “Madam, is it your intention to continue this?” “Indeed it is. Stand up, now, I prithee.” “I don’t believe that I can tolerate this, wife,” Rob told her. Anne smiled up at him. “I am certain that you can. We both have a much higher capacity for enduring pleasure than we’ve either heretofore experienced.” Rob moaned as her hands stroked his legs. “Come on, Robbie, stand up.” “I will reciprocate, Woman.” Anne laughed lowly. “Husband, I hope so.” “You’re going to be the death of me,” Rob said as he stood. “I’d rather be your life,” she told him as she rose to her feet. Rob pulled her to him and held her closely. “You are all of that, and more. I love you with every fiber of my being.” Her fingers worked the buttons of his waistcoat. “Words are cheap,” she teased him. “Action, perhaps, is what you desire?” he asked her as he began to unfasten the ropes of pearls pinned across her bodice by gold and jeweled ornaments. As her fingers worked feverishly on his clothes, he began working on hers. Hooks undone. Pins unfastened. Ties untied. Open came the bodice. Off came the stomacher. Skirt unhooked from the corset fell in a soft swoosh of velvet to the well-polished wooden floor. One tug began to release the laces on her corset. By then his shirt was open and released from the waist of his Spanish trousers. She pushed it from his shoulders and down his arms until it too joined her skirt on the floor. “Hundreds of years ago, on a wedding night, the whole wedding party would have undressed the bride


and groom, and stood there watching them look at one another, just to make sure that there was no cause for annulment in either of them finding the other repulsive,” Anne told him. “And may have stayed to witness them fuck for the first time.” “I far prefer modern customs,” Anne told him. “This is all to the good. I don’t want to share you with anyone, even vicariously.” “That feeling is mutual. If you ever took a mistress, I’d be shattered.” “I can’t imagine that you would ever leave me either the desire or the energy for another woman.” Anne chuckled as her fingers worked the hooks on his trousers. “That’s the plan, husband.” The wool of his trousers rushed down his legs, to pool at his feet. Through the linen of his drawers, she cupped his balls. Rob sucked in a deep breath. “Woman!” Anne laughed. “I certainly hope I am a woman.” He reached for the ties at her waist to remove the bum roll that supported the form of her skirt. “Why women wear these is beyond me.” “Fashion, my love, is a hard taskmistress,” she said. “Keep that up, woman, and you’ll learn about hard.” “Good! That’s precisely my intention.” “How many petticoats do you wear anyway?” he groused as he untied her top petticoat, only to find another beneath it. “This time of year, usually seven. In summer, one or two. The extra layers help with warmth,” she said as she released her hold on him. “Here, let me take care of this.” Rob stepped out of his trousers as she untied and dropped each of her remaining petticoats. “Okay, we’re down to the smallclothes,” Anne teased. “Now, what do you have in mind?” “Bed.” Anne chuckled. “How unimaginative,” she teased him. “You want imaginative?” Rob asked quietly, his voice challenging. “I’m simply too tired for anything too strenuous,” Anne replied, with a shake of her head and a yawn. Rob walked over to her. With a quick movement, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. Then he carried her, cradled in his arms, into the bedroom.


The large curtained bed had been turned back. The light in the room came from the fire behind the fireplace screen. Unlike the room they had slept in last night, this cozy room was warm. “Fireplaces in bedrooms, what a good idea,” he said quietly as he put her on her feet. “This is something we have to do when Garrick Hall is rebuilt. It’s a luxury. “ Then he untied the drawstring at the neck of her chemise and pushed that garment from her shoulders. Anne untied the drawstring holding up his drawers and pushed those down. Then she climbed into bed and scooted over to the side nearest the fireplace. Rob came in after her. He pulled the covers over both of them, then pulled her into his arms with her head nestled firmly on his shoulder. “You must tell me what you like so that I may give it to you. Pleasing you is my primary concern.” “Then we share the same concern,” Anne told him. “You are also concerned about my pleasing you?” he teased her. Anne reached up and tickled his armpit. He laughed. “Stop that!” he demanded through his laughter. “Silly, my concern is pleasing you,” she said as she stopped tickling him. “You have no concerns there. Everything you do pleases me,” Rob told her. “I do love you,” she told him.

About the author:

Cassie Walder welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.


Also by Cassie Walder:

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Dream Job

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Dream Lover

A Gift of Myrrh

Jodi Lynn Copeland

Chapter One Scottish Highlands, 1746

Tavish MacBain was going home, claiming the land and title he’d been deprived of these two and thirty years. And all because he’d had the misfortune of being born five minutes too late. Precious seconds that shaped his life for decades. Seconds that sent him away from his ancestral home and into the arms and bosom of the English. A brisk gust of wind whipped off the turbulent North Sea directly to his right. The frigidity that had overtaken the land, coating the rugged countryside with snow and ice, settled into his lungs and darted a shiver along his spine. He shook off the bitter chill and breathed in the salt air, thinking back to the few times he’d traversed this same narrow, winding path as a young lad. The memories were sketchy at best, and still he could sense how near he was to Castle Wynderon. Once he crested the top of this hill, the fortress’ twin turrets would stand tall and proud several hundred yards before him—they would if the soldiers had kept their word and harmed neither his land nor his


people. If those villagers who’d remained in Scotland instead of seeking solace in the colonies had been slain, Tavish would be hard pressed not to go against his vow to the Crown and seek revenge. Not that he wanted to participate in treason. He wished only for the fighting to cease. There had been too much death these last years, hundreds upon thousands of good men brought down for little more than loyalty to their ruler. Too many of his friends—both Scottish and English—had fallen for their patriotism. While he couldn’t influence the will of King George II, he could do everything in his power to see the villagers of Landon were treated as humans and not the savage brutes so many deemed them. Tavish wasn’t foolish. He knew well his battle for respect, if not equality, from those who were now made to call him laird, would be a long, arduous one. It was the reason he’d turned off the village road and taken this rocky path to the Castle’s rear entrance. Had he gone through the village it was possible a foolish few would have mistaken him for his brother Tomas, or perhaps his brother’s ghost. The majority of the villagers however—those whose knew about Tavish’s existence and the allegiance he’d long ago sworn to the Throne—would likely murder him with their bare hands. And for that he couldn’t blame them. Not after all they’d lost. All they continued to lose, as the way of life they’d known for over a century was slowly broken down. For now, he chose avoidance, veering away from the battle ahead. Later there would be no choice but to stand before his people and play the role of beast. The Englishman who dared to claim their land, to become their new laird. It wouldn’t matter a damn that he’d been birthed on this very soil and from the loins of the same woman from whom their late laird had sprung. All that mattered was he’d been taken away from the Highlands, and turned into a bloody Englishman. The wind picked up, howling in its severity when Tavish reached the top of the snow-crested mountain. All but oblivious to its biting sting, he gazed upon Castle Wynderon. The fortress jutted up in the distance to pierce through the dark clouds of early evening. Awe and reverence rifled through his blood, but no sense of victory was to be had. He’d coveted this land, this title nearly since the moment he’d been born and, yet, he couldn’t feel joy. For all that stood before him, all that was now his had come at the death of his brother, his twin. A man with identical looks, with whom he had nothing in common and had little love for. Still, he wished there had been some other way. The image of Tomas’ lifeless eyes—wide, staring, yet eerily vacant—as he expired on the moor of Culloden flashed through Tavish’s mind. He shook the scene away, refusing to succumb to the sorrow that always accompanied the horrific memory. Instead, he focused on the castle walls. More precisely, on the woman holed up inside them—Tomas’ widow. As the two brothers fought on opposite sides of the battlefield, Tavish had heard little of the woman. The scant information that had filtered down to him said the chit was the daughter of the village rector, garish, willful, and detestable in countenance. Word had it Tomas had taken her virginity by mistake and, being the dutiful gentleman, married her for his blunder. How a man could mistakenly take a virgin any more than he could fuck a woman portrayed so hideously was a mystery Tomas had taken to his grave. Too bad he had not taken his wife as well. For then, Tavish would not be forced to deliberate her future.


She was a lady by marriage, but a Scottish lady wasn’t worth much these days. At least, not to most. To Tavish the designation was every bit as notable as his own. He would leave the lady to her own fate. If she wished to return to her humble beginnings then so be it. And if she chose to stay a ward of Castle Wynderon, he would see to her comfort. Her happiness would have to be in her hands. He had more than enough to deal with searching for his own.

***** Lady Kristiana MacBain stepped back on the flagstone steps of Castle Wynderon to appraise the festive adornments that trimmed the castle’s outer walls. As if in protest to the bright yellows and greens that lined the otherwise naked stone, a bitter gust assailed the courtyard. She wrapped her thick, wool cloak tighter, not impervious to the biting nip of the wind, but not wishing to acknowledge it either. It was the eighteenth of December, and the full effect of the long, brutal winter ahead had settled over the Highlands, bringing with it a heightened sense of desolation. Many times during the past year and a half she’d ached to give into the doom felt by so many on the MacBain land, but she refused to become a victim of the battle that claimed all of her family and many of her friends. The village of Landon, cradled in the glen below, had been stripped of the thriving population of men and women it once boasted. Still, there were many there, a handful of whom continued to pray for the impossible to happen and their quickly deteriorating parish to be restored to its once prosperous culture. Kristiana prayed too, for continued triumph. For while their numbers might be reduced, those villagers who remained were primarily of sound health if not spirit. Their homes were still erect and their coffers, while sparse, not completely barren. Unlike most of their neighbors, and for reasons only God knew, they had been spared the English noose. For that, they had reason to celebrate. And they would celebrate. Festively. Now that the holiday season was upon them, she would see that it would be one of promise for the New Year. One where even the naysayers would be forced to believe in a brighter day on the morrow. Pulling free from her thoughts, Kristiana indicated the lush sprig of evergreen her longtime friend, Mary Smith, held just above the castle’s entrance. “A bit higher with that one. I want the color to be seen far and wide.” “’Tis a waste of yer time, Kristi. ‘Side from Auld Devlin and his wife, and the widow Barnathy, the people o’ Landon would rather spend their days sloshed and ruttin’, then celebratin’ a folly holiday.” Kristiana shook off the temper that flared at her friend’s accurate assessment, and clung to the few—those who still held out hope. It was for them she adorned these walls, as well as for herself. Deep down, she believed in her heart there was something better on the horizon. Something waiting for them all—they need only be patient and bide their time. Unfortunately, patience was not a virtue the villagers possessed. “That may be, but ‘tis my time to waste.”


Shaking off her cloak, she tramped inside, past the entrance hall to the drawing room, and gathered the rug that lined the floor before the hearth. She would have this place immaculate, even if she were the only one to be grateful for her efforts. She dragged the thick rug to the courtyard and, hefting its weight, gave it a firm snap. Dust motes filled the chilled air and brought a sneeze to her nose. Mary cast her a dubious glance. “’Tis not work befittin’ a lady.” “Alaistir and Fiona are gone to Inverness for supplies,” she said of the groundskeeper and his wife, the joint cook and housekeeper. “Besides, you know well I enjoy cleaning. It makes me feel alive. Like I’ve something better to do with myself than sit and sew and while the hours away.” “Still, ‘tisn’t right.” “Then, ‘tis a good thing I don’t—” Kristiana’s reply died on her lips at the sound of rapidly approaching hoof beats. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She’d been educated enough in survival to know the sound was a lone rider. One rider, even if that person be English, was not cause for concern. And yet, she couldn’t stop the anxiety that overcame her. She drew in a long, calming breath of icy air as horse and rider rounded the far side of the castle. From this distance, the man’s worn attire suggested him a messenger. But the proud way he sat his mount told another story. The solidarity of his broad shoulders beneath his dark riding-coat spoke of a regal bearing and, more, of authority. Though his features were not yet identifiable, the sudden urge to bolt into the safety of the castle walls swept through Kristiana. No matter what her instincts might warrant, she couldn’t run and hide. She was the lady of this keep. A fierce, brave Scotswoman, and as such she had to stand her ground. To be the chieftain of this soon-to-be disbanded clan. Even if her hammering heart demanded she do otherwise. “Get inside, Mary,” she ordered, thankful her voice didn’t give way to the unexplainable dread stiffening her limbs. “I’ll see to this matter.” The slightest shuffle of feet ensured the woman had moved, but not all the way inside. Before Kristiana could remark on her failure to heed the command, the rider came to a stop and she caught sight of his face. The formidable set of the man’s strong, shadowed jaw nearly sent Kristiana into her first ever swoon. “God Almighty, ‘tis a ghost,” Mary breathed behind her. As a rule, Kristiana did not believe in anything as foolish as spirits. And yet, as she stared upon the tall, dark man who resembled her late husband so completely, she knew of nothing else he could be. The hammering of her heart turned to an insistent thrumming that echoed harshly between her ears. “Inside, Mary” she managed. And then she was dropping the rug she held in a death grip as her feet moved of their own accord to the man’s side. He slid off his mount’s back to the cold hard ground, his booted feet soundless in the crisp snow. The crooked grin she saw so rarely on Tomas’ handsome face spread wide, and the breath stilled in her throat even as hope warmed her heart.


She drew her hand part way to her mouth, and then paused. “You can’t be…” “I’ve come home, my lady,” the stranger, who looked so much like Tomas, responded in a deep baritone, the faintest burr accentuating his words. And then he did the most remarkable of things—he opened his arms to her. Not once had Kristiana sought comfort in her husband’s embrace. No woman was welcome there. But as he stood before her, looking like a man arisen from the dead, a man who could bring some form of stability to a people in dire need of it, she couldn’t stop herself from going into the welcoming heat of his arms. Rising on tiptoe, she glided her mouth to his cheek for a chaste kiss. Only when her lips landed, it wasn’t on his beard-shadowed face, but on his full, sensuous mouth. She gasped as his steel-muscled arms banded around her, instantly warming her flesh with the unexpected intimacy. Pulling her firmly against him, he used her parted lips to his advantage, sweeping into her mouth, licking and suckling at her inner flesh, devouring her with the potency of his kiss. She mewled a soft sigh of pleasure when he pulled back, and then his tongue was claiming her again, robbing her of every thought but that of his bold, masculine flavor and deftly, probing tongue. The idea of him using that clever tongue in far more secret places, places that even now grew damp with the juices of arousal, swirled through her clouded brain and further sped the beat of her heart. His ravenous mouth stayed constant, foraging from her parted lips, while his hands chased through her hair, setting strand after strand free from their confines and tingling her scalp with a heady, light pleasure. Her legs weakened at the surprisingly erotic sensation of his short nails on her scalp, and she curled her fingers into his coat for stability. The same reckless need that pulsed through her, pounded in his chest, just beneath her touch, further spiraling the lust that grew thick in her veins. She could not have denied the appetite that consumed her at this moment if she had wanted. She was starving for this man and he seemed to share her appetite completely. Kristiana’s thoughts veered far away from the desolation that surrounded them and she responded to his kiss with the same urgency, the same desperation she tasted on his tongue. With a guttural groan of approval, he drove deeper into the recesses of her mouth, tangling and pillaging, taking every bit of what she offered and more. His large, callused hands traveled down her spine and he roughly cupped her buttocks. Could she escape the kiss, she would have gasped at the delicious feeling of his fingers fondling her backside, but she could not escape it, her body wouldn’t allow the separation. Instead, she closed her eyes and arched against his touch, so that his hardness pressed delectably against her belly and sent her limbs atremble. And he was hard. Hard, male and virile beneath her hands. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her off the ground and rubbed his thick shaft against her pelvis. For an instant, the magnitude of his engorged manhood overpowered the desire that swamped her. Then his rough, forceful tongue moved faster, in a pace that defied rationale, and it was all she could do to hold onto him for strength and moan the need that burned through her, soaking her undergarments and stealing every ounce of common sense. Never had Tomas kissed her this way, so savagely, so demandingly. So arousingly. She had believed she didn’t need him to do so, that she was content to be married to a man who had no use for her body. She knew now how wrong she had been. She wanted this moment to continue forever, to feel his strong, capable hands on every inch of her naked, sweat-soaked skin. To feel his tempting mouth on her bared breasts, his fingers embedded deep in the swollen, tingling flesh between her thighs, setting free the


orgasm she knew she was on the verge of. The orgasm that before now, she had only heard stories about. Tangling her fingers through his long, black hair, she ground her hips against his erect staff and drank in the slight musk of his sweat and beyond that, the rich scent of soap. He smelled like a warrior, tasted like a man who could take her to places she’d never before been, places she hadn’t even thought to fantasize about. Never would have thought to fantasize about with Tomas, a man whose tastes strayed far from women, deep into the terrain of boys and young men. Tomas was not even capable of taking a woman the way she wished to be taken now. The way this man had her ready to beg for. But if that was true, then how… Her thoughts skidding to a reckless halt, Kristiana stilled her wandering hands and snapped open her eyes. Passion-churned blackness stared back at her. Not blue as Tomas’ eyes had been, but deep, soulless black. Her heart plummeted. Holy Mother, this wasn’t her husband! A scream on the verge of ripping from her lungs, she uncurled her fingers from the stranger’s hair and pushed against his broad, muscled chest with every ounce of strength she possessed. He didn’t budge. Instead, he took one more, luxurious swipe of her mouth, feasting on her so completely, so carnally, that when he finally set her away, it took her several seconds to recall why she wanted to be let go. Then she remembered. And her temper unleashed itself. No longer fearing the cold, as her body was heated enough to last the winter through, she wrapped her arms over her chest and glared. “Who in the devil are you?” His crooked grin became devious and he did yet another outrageous thing, he bowed to her. “Gaven, my lady, and ‘tis a true pleasure to finally meet you.” She arched a brow and took a purposeful step backward, not about to be swayed by his belated show of manners any more than his cunning attempts at seduction. At least no more than she had already been affected. She shivered involuntarily at the unbidden desire still surging through her, and wrapped her arms tighter to her chest in the hopes he’d believe it was the cold she fought against. “Finally, you say?” He straightened and nodded. His long, dark hair billowed in the breeze, and her fingers itched to find their way back into its lengths. Her body burned to do much the same, until the thickness of his shaft was buried deep inside her core and the restless ache in her womb was brought to an end. Damnation, she could not stop herself! It was madness and, still, she wanted him, be he stranger or ghost. “My brother went on and on about you. I can’t think he wouldn’t speak of me too.” Gaven’s words freed her from her yearnings in an instant. Revulsion churned her stomach. “Your brother?” she asked aghast, though the answer should have been plain to see. “Tomas was your brother?”


“It would look that way.” “Aye, ’twould.” And if she had not been so enamored with the idea of impaling herself on the devil’s lap, she would have realized it long before. Sweet Lord, what had come over her? “Why is it Tomas never mentioned having a twin?” His gaze dropped to her mouth and his grin turned nefarious. “Perhaps, he feared I’d swoop down and steal his lovely bride.” “Mr. Gaven. That is hardly appropriate talk.” Not to mention the absolute last thing Tomas would have worried over.And possibly the best thing that could have ever happened to me. She gave her head a firm shake. Where on earth was her mind today? Judging by the dampness still heavy between her thighs, far south of her head. “What about Tavish?” he asked. She narrowed her gaze at the mention of her husband’s highly scandalous younger brother. She had heard little of him from Tomas—mainly that he was a heartless rake, but it was more than enough to know she disliked the man. “What of him?” “Tomas mentioned him then?” “Aye, he said he was a scoundrel. An English one at that.” Gaven’s dark eyebrows drew together as if he was appalled by the idea. The amusement that tinged his words indicated just the opposite. “An Englishman that goes by a Scottish name? How disgraceful.” “’Tis a truth, your brother has no care for scandal. He’s been known to rob maidens of their virtue by drugging them mindless with his kisses.” His lips twitched. “You don’t say.” “I do.” And as she stood here, watching him fight a smile, she realized Gaven was most likely known to do the same. She had to have been mindless for the way she responded to him, the lust still aflame in her lower belly. His lips fell flat and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And do tell me, Lady Kristiana, is that not how you came by your title? By allowing my brother to seduce you with a handful of pleasurable kisses, then dally between your milky, white thighs?” The breath caught in Kristiana’s throat so fiercely she nearly choked on it. “Mr. Gaven! Why of all the wicked, licentious, libert—” His laughter, deep and derisive, carried on the breeze like a dagger straight to her heart. All trace of his burr was gone when he spoke next. “Laird Gaven, my lady. Or Tavish MacBain if you so prefer. And I would say it is you who is licentious for allowing my good brother to defile you. Then there are the liberties you allowed me to take in an open courtyard. Quite shocking. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” As she stood there, gaping into his mocking black eyes, realization settled in like the fog that so often


shrouded the castle walls. She knew in that moment the answers to all her unasked questions. Why the villagers of Landon had been spared, why the women had not been raped nor the children beaten, why their cottages still stood, and the coffers weren’t bled dry. They’d been spared by the King’s army to face their demise at the hands of a lone man. A devil who shared his brother’s strong, noble features, but knew nothing of Tomas’ fighting spirit, his love for the MacBain clan. Tavish might claim a Scottish name, but beyond that, he was a tried and true Englishman. One who wielded the power to remove each and every villager from the land they loved with a mere snap of his fingers. One who could turn a maiden’s traitorous body into a pit of raw, aching need with little more than a kiss.

Chapter Two

“I won’t be evicted!” Tavish scowled down at the red-haired beauty whose eyes flickered as icily blue as the sea that surrounded the better part of the castle. The woman’s declaration disturbed him nearly as much as her comeliness. Her strikingly elegant features coupled with the high, firm breasts and the round, supple ass he’d palmed moments before, ensured no man could consider Lady Kristiana detestable in countenance. Willful, yes. But detestable? Not with that tongue. He’d been shocked to silence at his first sight of her, standing on the castle steps doing work suited to a servant. Then she’d seen him as well and her face lit, unguarded hope entering her eyes, and he’d felt another emotion altogether. One he thought himself well beyond. Eager for a reason he couldn’t quite place, he’d slid from his mount and opened his arms to her, and she’d run into them and offered her mouth. Though it had only been another second before he’d realized her mistake—that she thought her dead husband had somehow been returned to her—he hadn’t been able to break away. Not when her lips ripened to him and her honey sweet tongue flicked so blatantly against his, bringing his blood to a boil and his cock to abrupt attention. His penis stirred anew at the memory of her willing, young body snaked against his, and Tavish grunted his displeasure. He might not have been able to feel the direct heat of her pussy against his skin, but he’d smelled the sweet tang of her sex in the air, saw the lust cloud her eyes. She’d wanted him to fuck her, right there in the courtyard for all to see. And damn his hide, he’d wanted the same thing. Bloody hell! Why couldn’t she be the ugly shrew he’d been led to believe? The lustful appetite spilling through his veins and tightening his balls was his own fault, he supposed. A


wiser man would have taken care of his needs before leaving England. It had been over three sennights since he’d last fallen into the warmth of a woman’s parted thighs. Contrary to what Kristiana believed, that woman hadn’t been innocent or asleep, but a long-time acquaintance with whom he’d shared many trysts. Not a whore, but not exactly a lady either. Much like his companion, judging by the fact she too had clearly realized her mistake long before their kiss ended. Certainly before she rummaged those long, slender fingers through his hair and ground her sex against him in open invitation. While Tavish could not understand the rumors that had been spread regarding her appearance, he could well see how Tomas had been lured into her bed. She was a strumpet of the highest order. One whose eagerness to share her body reminded him too much of another supposed lady, one whom he had believed himself to be in love with several years before. That woman’s affection had been more false than any other he’d received in his life, and had died the moment she found a wealthier paramour. He took a step backward, toward his horse. Contempt burned hot in Kristiana’s potent gaze and still he did not trust her to keep her distance. Not when he knew how easily she could pull him into her hedonistic web. “Is that what you think? I’ve come to evict you?” he questioned harshly, wondering now if her advances were a promise of future thrills if he allowed her to stay on.Bartering her body for a place to sleep, he thought sardonically,how like a woman. “I merely wish to have back what is mine. Whether you stay or go is of no consequence to me.” “But if I leave, sir, wherever will you find an innocent to forage up? ‘Tis a sad truth, there are only a handful of maidens left in the village and not a single one in the castle.” His shock over her defiant words was only outweighed by her self-decree. He couldn’t hold back his snort of derision. “I would hardly consider you an innocent. Even if my brother tired of you after a single rut, that doesn’t give you back your virtue.” Since a stable boy had yet to appear, Tavish turned and grabbed his mount’s reins. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a mind to take care of my horse and get changed and washed before the evening meal.” He’d taken a few steps when her lilting voice called after him. “And just who do you think will feed you, my laird?” “My cook, I presume.” At Kristiana’s huff, he turned back. She stood with her hand to her brow, her gaze locked in the direction whence he had come. “What are you doing?” “Looking for your cook.” He almost laughed, but refused to give in lest she think her wry humor affected him. “My cook isyour cook,” he said sternly. She looked to him, her eyes as cool and clear as liquid sapphires. “’Tis hungry you shall be then. My cook is absent. I sent her and the caretaker to Inverness for supplies.”


“Surely you have more than one.” She gave her head a firm shake, and the strands of burnished red that had come free from her braid when they’d embraced, lifted on the wind to frame her face. The effect softened her features, making her appear far more delicate than what he’d first believed. Not just her eyes, nor her cheekbones, but her ruby-red lips. Delicate and soft and luscious. And, of course, that’s exactly what they were. “Nay, ‘tis just myself, Fiona and her husband. The rest of the staff left months ago.” Tavish swept his gaze from her mouth in an attempt to forget how sinfully sweet she tasted. Not that his whole mind dwelt there. That portion of his brain propelled by his still swollen cock was on another part of her altogether. That part he held no doubt the hoyden would happily yield to him—be he stranger or the ghost of her husband—the dewy soft crux of her thighs that housed her heated cunt. “And what about the girl,” he bit out, his voice edged with an unbidden rasp. “The one who was with you when I arrived?” If Kristiana noted the change in his tone, she gave no indication. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced to her right, to the glen that harbored Landon. He nearly groaned his thanks aloud when she released her lip. “Aye, she works here, but lives in the village.” He gave a curt nod and turned back to his mount, needing to be free of the vixen and the charm she worked on him with so little effort. He called over his shoulder as he started for the stable, “Then there will be plenty of room when my staff arrives.” “Your staff?” The chill in her words caused him to look back. Her eyes wide and her brow marred with faint lines, she appeared distressed. He’d never expected her to reveal such an emotion to him. In truth, he never expected her to reveal any honest emotion at all. Perhaps she thought he planned to evict her cook and caretaker, as she’d first feared for herself. “Ours, if you prefer,” he said lightly. “There will be a cook amongst them, to see we don’t starve when your Fiona is absent.” Her concern ebbed in a flash, to be replaced with unmistakable ire. She thrust her slender hand to her hip. “I’ll have you know, sir, I’ve not led your pampered life. I can cook well, and have even seen to the serving those times when Castle Wynderon was weighted to the gills with hungry guests.” Though Tavish had no mind to turn her into a servant, it appeared that’s exactly what she wished for. Far better it be one who saw to his hunger than his libido. “Then you’ll have no problem having a meal on the table after I’ve finished washing.” The fire in her eyes burned ever higher, and the hand on her hip fisted, making him wonder if he’d been mistaken in her wants. Unsure what to say to please her, and even more unsure why he thought to do so in the first place, he nodded toward the greenery that donned the castle wall and said the first thing that came to him. “The decorations are lovely. As you know, we Englishman love our holidays.”

***** Every word Tomas had spoken about his brother was true. The man had no regard for right or wrong,


he simply doled out orders and expected them to be followed. It was a shame Kristiana’s manners dictated she feed the man, as she would’ve loved to march past him and up to her chambers for the remainder of the day, if not the rest of the year. Instead, she stood in the kitchen pounding dough for biscuits, taking her pleasure in imagining it was the laird’s too handsome face. He thought her a slut, a harlot no less! She—one of the few remaining virgins on MacBain land—the maiden who, until today, had never even known passion outside of whispered stories and those few trysts she’d chanced upon by accident. Who wished she’d still never experienced it, for passion at the hands of the devil wasn’t worth all the gold in the world. Neither was his appreciation for her holiday adornment. She’d been sorely tempted to rip the gay juniper and mistletoe down. The idea he’d know she’d done it because his gratitude bothered her stopped her from doing just that. Besides, there was more to consider than her feelings. There was an entire parish in desperate need of cheer. Tomorrow, they’d need that merriment all the more. When the villagers of Landon learned whom they were now forced to call master, those few who’d held out hope for salvation would surely fall to the wayside. To think she’d believed her patience would pay off, that a savior would swoop down and turn their lives around. The man who’d come instead couldn’t be any farther from a savior if he’d tried. He was a devil, a libertine. A scoundrel who made her breasts tingle and nipples bead just thinking about him. Damnation! She would not feel this way, this raw aching hunger to finish what they’d begun in the courtyard. She had lived three and twenty years without feeling a man’s caress, she could go awhile longer. Or forever, if God so bid it. Kristiana returned to her pounding, determined to stay within the walls of the place she’d called home for the last year and a half, and equally intent to veer far away from the man who would now live here with her.

***** Tavish woke to a scream. It took only a moment to realize it was his own. The bed’s rich blue coverlet was tossed to the floor and the bedclothes that should have covered him twined dangerously around his naked limbs and neck. Grimacing, he untangled himself. He’d like to blame the hellish nightmare on Kristiana’s cooking—it was easy to believe the chit had laced the biscuits and stew she’d fed him for dinner with poison. But he knew better. This dream had been haunting him for over eight months and it wouldn’t stop any time soon. Perhaps not ever. Swinging to the edge of the large four-poster, he reached for the spread and wrapped it around his shoulders. He wouldn’t fall back asleep tonight. He’d made that mistake once before, only to return to a hell far worse than the one he’d awoken from.


Lighting the candelabra he’d doused a few short hours earlier, he slipped through the bedchamber’s door. He had no worry of meeting someone in the dank hallways. The cook and caretaker had not returned, and if Kristiana were like the ladies he’d known in England, she slept like the dead and well into the morning. Tavish hadn’t traversed the castle halls at night since before he was sent to England as a boy of seven, and still he remembered their seemingly endless maze of corridors and hidden passageways. Within minutes, he’d reached his once favorite part of the castle, the open parapet that overlooked the cliffs. Moonlight peeked through a cloud-filled night to shine upon the waves as they crashed against the rugged coastline. From his vantage at the battlement’s stone edge, he embraced the restless beauty of the surf, the burning the frigid air brought to his lungs, the briny tang of the sea. Here he felt alive. Free in a way he hadn’t experienced in too long. In England, the home of his mother—a lady by name if not actions—he might have been given a title, might even have come to be respected in society, but as a whole that didn’t mean a damned thing. He’d had to swear allegiance to a king he didn’t trust and, far worse, fight a country he loved, not once but numerous times. It was only this latest battle that scarred him, propelled him into asking the Crown for the land he should have come by naturally upon his brother’s death. This last battle that haunted his nights as surely as it did his— “If you plan to jump, I suggest you do so before the tide completely washes in. ‘Twould be a pity if after making such a foolish leap, you only injured yourself.” Tavish swiveled at the lilting, feminine burr. Clothed in a scanty linen nightdress, her long hair streaming around her slender shoulders, Kristiana looked nearly an apparition. A ghostly beauty sent down from above to torment him with her alluring form and even more tempting mouth. “You’re awake, my lady.” Her gaze traveled the length of him, quickly snapping back to his face. Though it seemed implausible on someone so brazen, he swore a blush colored her fair skin. “Aye, and I’m dressed, which is more than I can say for you.” The scorn in her words brought a grin to his face. The urge to taunt her as she took such pleasure in doing to him was too great to let pass. He took a step toward her. “I was waiting for a maiden to debauch with my kisses, but it appears I’ve been stood up.” Her gaze narrowed. “Why do I find that so easy to believe?” He took a second step, aware he was enticing a woman he knew better than to bait. Yet, whether it be lack of sleep softening his brain or utter lunacy, he could not turn away. “Perhaps I’ll have to take advantage of the lady in my presence.” With a loud gasp, Kristiana stepped back, effectively pinning herself against the wall. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, as we both well know, I’m not a maiden.” She was right, normally Tavish wouldn’t dare. Tonight—and with this harlot parading as a lady—he certainly wouldn’t think to respond to the lust churning his blood, nor that pulsing through his suddenly


erect cock, drawing his balls ever tighter. He wouldn’t have if at that moment the moon hadn’t escaped the clouds to reveal a secret yearning burning in her eyes. A yearning that made him forget his judgment to concentrate entirely on the wicked desires licking through him, the ones that told him to take what she offered and fuck her until she believed she had earned her keep. “Oh, but we both know what a scoundrel I am, my lady. And honestly, I’ve never been one to quibble over virtue.” He advanced on her in a blink. The coverlet fell to the floor as his arms encircled her back and his lips crashed down upon hers. For an instant, her mouth was still and then it moved, her tongue darting out to lick fiercely at his. He suckled at her sweet flavor, all but drowning in the depths of her unbridled want. He bent slightly and pulled her closer to grind his engorged penis against the valley of her sex. She whimpered into his mouth, her hips arching automatically, stroking his hard, hot cock with her thinly veiled pussy. Tavish felt her wetness cloaking the head of his shaft through her gown, and any trace of rationale he still possessed vanished. Thrusting his tongue against hers, he reached for the hem of her nightdress. Just when his fingers would have made contact with the flimsy material, Kristiana pulled free of his mouth. She stared at him, looking every bit the part of Aphrodite with her fiery hair a wild halo and passion suffusing her fine features. “Gaven,” she squeaked out, her breathing coming as uneven pants. He grinned at her breathlessness and brought his hand from her back to stroke a thumb over her swollen lower lip. “Gaven is my English name, my lady. I find I much prefer Scottish on your pretty lips.” She shook her head, her throat eliciting a high clicking sound. A noise that almost made him believe she was frightened. Only, he knew better. This chit was far from a blushing maiden. She knew the pleasures of the flesh and had come to live in this castle by way of her parted thighs. Thought to remain in this castle via the same means. She was no lady. At least, not beyond what her title afforded. “Please don’t…” she murmured. He parted the softness of her lips with his thumb, and her tongue instantly glided over the tip. He growled his appreciation, able to well imagine how her mouth would feel wrapped around his cock, the roughness of her tongue as she licked at the fluid that beaded on the head of his shaft then swallowed his hot come. His penis undulated with the erotic visions that coasted through his mind and, as though she felt the movement against her cunt, she stiffened and drew in a heavy breath. Slipping his thumb free of her mouth to stroke along her cheek, he rasped, “Don’t what, Kristiana? Don’t stop? If that’s what you fear, I’ve no intention.” “Please…do…stop…” Tavish ceased his strokes, taken aback at the genuine fear that seemed to echo in her request. “You wish for me to stop?” Her gaze registered on his. There was uncertainty there, but not fear. Passion, yes. Need, certainly. Desire, more than he could ever remember seeing in a woman’s eyes. In the murky depths of her gaze was the truth. She didn’t wish him to stop, not even if her next word was a huskily whispered, “Yes.”


He resumed his caress, ran his thumb to her jaw, along the sensitive flesh of her neck to feel her thrumming pulse then lower to her collarbone. She trembled, a low cry of ecstasy tripping from her lips as he slid her nightdress off one creamy shoulder. He chuckled in response. Her whispered ‘yes’ was quite clearly the lie he’d deemed it. “You’re not a very good liar, my lady. Shall we see what you are good at?”

***** God’s teeth, what was the matter with her? This was her brother by wedlock. Nay, not her brother, given her marriage to Tomas had never been consummated. Still, he was a stranger. One who’d not only invaded her late night perch, but who was a bloody Englishman! Quite possibly the very man to have slain her husband. Worse, her father or brother. “Oh…Tavish…” Oh no! Who was making these words come out of her mouth? Of course, it was him, her rogue companion. As he’d done earlier this day, he’d drugged her with the potency of his kiss, with the cleverness of his hands. And she knew well his next move. Without a single ounce of shame, he would steal her virginity, make her another of a countless number of maidens he'd defiled. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it. No matter how wickedly delicious the scrape of his beard and the wet heat of his mouth felt nipping at her collarbone, his rough tongue laving over her flesh as he exposed her shoulder to the brisk night air, this had to end now! “Oh, sweet Lord!” The words ripped from her mouth as Tavish tore open the satin ribbons at the throat of her nightdress with a single yank. Excitement welled deep within her at his savage move. A flame of raw desire spurred low in her belly and her thighs shuddered with anticipation as his rigid shaft once more ran the length of her cleft. She wished she’d have thought to wear undergarments to bed. If she had, her juices wouldn’t be seeping down her legs, thickening the night air with the tang of her arousal. More, they wouldn’t be soaking through her gown to moisten his thrusting staff. Even as she thought it, he dropped to his knees, removing his hard sex from her touch. The whimper escaped her mouth before she could stop it. With a hearty chuckle, he dragged her gown over her other shoulder and drew the material down until her breasts were exposed to the cool night air. Her nipples turned to hard, swollen peaks that he quickly placed his thumbs over and stroked. Her breasts grew heavy and the fire building between her thighs escalated to an almost unbearable ache. The devil before her tipped his head back and flashed a crooked grin, his dark eyes alive with lust. “You’ve a beautiful body, Kristiana. It makes my cock so very hard.” She thought to tell him she cared naught for his pretty words, even less for his indelicacy, but he dipped his tongue into the hollow between her breasts, and all her words died away. Grasping her buttocks in his large, callused hands, he drew her firmly to him, so that his immense erection pressed against her inner


thigh. She couldn’t stop her throaty cry of pleasure any more than she could stop her mind from drifting to that moment when he would pierce her with his bulging manhood. She wanted that moment. She had wanted it earlier this day and she wanted it again now—even if it was wrong. Tavish’s mouth settled over her breast, clamping on an erect nipple, and the desire flooding her nether lips increased tenfold. Burying her fingers in his long, thick hair, she arched against his masterful mouth and moaned her desire as he twisted her nipple in his teeth. His hands moved from her bottom for the briefest of moments and then they were back, beneath the skirt of her nightdress this time, skin on sweat-slicked skin. His long, strong fingers petted her backside again and again, stroking up and down the seam of her bottom. They were so very close to her quivering center, he could thrust into her at any moment. Steal her maidenhead, rob her of her virtue, of her innocence. A damned Englishman no less. The very man she had sworn to protect her people from. Jesu! She could not do this, she owed it to her clansmen to stop. Passion turned to self-derision in a blind second, and Kristiana wrenched her hands from his hair to press at his heavily muscled chest. When he remained undeterred, his furious sucks and licks continuing, she plied her nails into his flesh. With a grunt, he pulled free and stared at her. “You wish to play rough?” “I wish not to play. We must stop this now. ‘Tis madness!” A lazy grin spread over Tavish’s face, and the fingers that had been fondling her backside dipped low to tease the damp curls of her mound. “That it might be, my lady. But you’re such a tasty little strumpet I can’t seem to help myself.” His big fingers pushed past the soft down to stroke along the edge of her sex. She pinched her nails deeper into his chest, mewling her bliss over the tender assault. His throaty laughter reached her the same time as his words. He had called her a strumpet! And it was true, she was acting the part of a whore. Lifting her hands from his chest, she narrowed her gaze. “Unhand me. Now. Before your days of handling strumpets are brought to a painful and permanent demise.” His fingers stilled and his lips compressed. Puzzlement shone in his eyes. “Do you wish to be the one doing the seducing, my lady?” “Nay, sir. I wish to be the hell free from your violating hands!” The fury in her voice must have reached him, because with nary another word he released her. Kristiana stumbled backward until the stone wall was again at her back. She yanked her nightdress to her throat and clutched it there. For a long moment, she could only stare at Tavish, not his magnificent body stripped and laid bare to the night, but the guilt-riddled look in his dark gaze. Then reason took over and she bolted past him for the safety of her bedchamber.


Chapter Three

Two days he had ignored Lady Kristiana, two days spent with a half hard cock and thoughts of fucking her senseless running rampant through his mind. The latter was why Tavish had ignored her. After the way she’d bolted that night on the battlement, he no longer knew what to make of her. Had the fear he detected in her eyes just before she ran from him been real, or merely a game? Could she be toying with him, making him feel guilty for his advances so he would come to her and beg pardon, and then when she had him in her realm, she would become the vixen he first guessed her? Or was it her own guilt that ate at her, guilt for offering herself to an Englishman? As much as she seemed to want him, she had made it clear she did not approve of his heritage. And that was pure horseshit. He was no more the Englishman than his brother had been. He had been raised in that country against his wishes and in time had learned to accept it as his temporary home. That didn’t mean it was where his faith lay. No, that would always be here, in the country he loved like no other. Shaking free of his thoughts, he focused on Kristiana’s stiff back. Beyond her childhood home, she knelt before a trio of small headstones. This morning he had been forced to end the silence between them and ask her assistance in speaking with the villagers. He had been surprised at how easily she’d agreed. He was even more astonished that she chose to bring him here, a place she held sacred. As she rose from her perch in the clean, white snow and turned to him, his curiosity was sated. “My mother died from sickness when I was a babe. Every spring my father heaped her grave with the roses she loved. This year there’ll be no roses.” “And you would blame that on me?” he asked, not missing the bite in her tone, nor the wintry sting in her ice blue eyes. “I would blame that on your kind.” And which kind would that be? Tavish wondered, as she hurried past him. A scoundrel who dared to violate her whilst she was drunk from his kisses, or an Englishman? Clearly she spoke of his blood, for if anyone had been intoxicated that night on the parapet it was he. He had to have been drunk to have wanted the insolent chit so badly. And if that were true, then he was still inebriated, because as he watched her walk to the front of the manor, the sight of her rounded hips and her plump ass swishing beneath her long coat had his cock hard all over again. With a grunt, he cursed his body’s desire and followed her into the house. She stood in the sitting area, glancing around the dank, starkly furnished room—the place had been stripped of its finery. Her gaze lighted on him for the briefest of moments, and Tavish could not help but register the sadness there. If she had brought him here to further berate him, she had done so at a cost to


herself. Compassion for all that had been taken from her these past months swept through him, striking a chord of understanding deep within. He knew the sense of loss that rallied through her eyes, knew how it felt to lose everything and every one you knew and loved. To be surrounded by a bleakness that seemed would never dissipate. On instinct, he opened his arms and took a step toward her. Her eyes flew wide, panic burst through her gaze and her ruby-red lips parted to form anO. He halted and cursed inwardly. If what he read in her gaze, in the delicate features of her face were accurate then she truly had not wanted his advances two nights prior. Was it possible he had imagined her lustful response to him in the courtyard as well? Or had that much been real but meant for another man, one she cared deeply for? “What kind of man was my brother?” Her distress fading, Kristiana lifted her chin. “An honorable one.” “And the villagers? How did they treat him?” Her full lips twitched until the slightest of smiles claimed them. “They loved him, of course. He was a brave man who fought for what he believed in.” Her mouth fell flat as she pinned him with a glare. “He fought for theright side.” As opposed to Tavish, who’d fought for the wrong. The barb pricked far deeper than he cared to admit. Struggling to keep his voice even, he pressed, “And how did he treat his lady wife? Did she love him as well?” Wrapping her arms around her middle, she fixed her gaze elsewhere. “’Tis really none of your business, sir, but we had a very special relation.” If that were the truth then why had Tomas called the woman garish, detestable in countenance? No man who had tasted her fiery kisses, felt the high, firm globes of her breasts pressed against his mouth, or the ripeness of her silky ass swaddled in his hands could make such a claim. His cock responded with a fierce pang of need as he recalled her throaty mewls of passion, of undeniable pleasure as he petted the folds of her pussy. She was a woman capable of great emotions, of far reaching desire. Of unyielding love…that which surpassed even death. Obviously, he’d been mistaken. It was Tomas she had thought to be kissing in the courtyard. Tomas she ached to have hold her, console her sorrow. Tomas who’d occupied her mind even as she had melted in Tavish’s arms and cried out his name. He bit back his growl of displeasure. He was by no means an unsullied lad, but he was also no scoundrel who cared naught for the imaginings of the woman he pleasured. If she were to cry out his name, she would damned well do so because it was he she savored behind her closed eyes. He, and he alone, she wished to have holding her, stroking her to orgasm, and not because she thought to earn her right to stay within the walls of Castle Wynderon, but because she wanted to be with him, to feel him fucking her deep into the night. And he realized with startling clarity that he wanted her to picture him thus. Wanted her to burn for his


touch, long for his mouth on her breasts, her nipples, for the furious thrust of his hot, hard sex into the deepest recesses of her cunt. Circumstances be damned, he wanted her for his mistress. And why the bloody hell not? She already thought him a rake, why not live up to her belief and make her yet another mistress in the slew of lovers she had undoubtedly already assigned him? It would take only the slightest of provocation to garner her agreement. For as much as she might have imagined another man as he fondled first her ass and then her heated mound, it was not another man who had her pussy lips slippery with the dew of ecstasy. Not another man whose thumb she nibbled upon, or whose mouth she ate at again and again, like a starving woman possessed. She would agree to this arrangement. He need only decide upon the best way to approach her with his offer. Kristiana’s wistful sigh brought his attention back to her profile. His fingers itched to trail over her lovely alabaster skin, to peel away her coat and gown to reveal the feminine layers of lace and cloth beneath. Then strip them away as well, until nothing but Kristiana and all her womanly charms stood before him. Only this was not the time, nor the place. Undressing her in a cold, empty house was certainly not the best way to make her see his reasoning. For now he settled on following her gaze to the object that held her enthralled—an oil painting of a formally garbed couple settled amidst several other portraits over the hearth mantle. The woman’s hair was swept back in the fashion of that day, the locks that were visible almost the same deep shade of red as Kristiana’s. Eyes of a brilliant green gazed adoringly at the man who stood near her. She was a striking woman, he a handsome man. A couple who’d clearly played some elemental part in Kristiana’s heritage. “Family?” he questioned, moving to stand beside her. She nodded, but spared him no glance. “My great uncle and aunt, Laird and Lady Garrick. She was such an attractive woman.” Her voice a gentle whisper, she added, “I’ve always wished to have been passed down her eyes.” “Would be a shame had you, yours are far more engaging.” As much as Tavish told himself this was not the place to start enticing her, he could not stop the words from tumbling out. “They remind me of the loch in the wood. Crystal clear and sparkling blue. One dip into their cool, liquid depths could never be enough to sate a man.” “You know well I care not for your pretty words, my laird,” she said, but the breathy quality of her voice assured the opposite. The gentle lilt reminded him of that moment when she rummaged her fingers through his hair and whimpered her pleasure. He felt nearly as heated now, remembering the look of rapture on her beautiful face, as he had then. It was more than enough to encourage him to continue. “I can only guess at the splendor of her bosom beneath all those layers, but yours I can well picture. High, firm, ripe breasts made for spilling into a man’s hands.”My hands. “I beseech you not to speak so, sir. ‘Tis quite disconcerting.” And quite arousing, judging by the undeniable husk that peppered her words and the erratic rise and fall


of her chest beneath her coat. His shaft throbbed painfully beneath his breeches, aching for release. How would she react if he took down his pants and saw to his pleasure here and now, before her eyes? The urge to take his cock into his hand and stroke its inflamed length until hot come flowed freely was almost too exhilarating for Tavish to ignore. Only the notion he would scare her off before he had time to convince her of her body’s desire stopped him from doing just that. He couldn’t refrain from lifting his thumb to her mouth. Her breath hitched when he traced her full lower lip. All but oblivious to the sound, he continued his exploration, mesmerized by the lushness of her mouth, the memory of how sinfully sweet she tasted. He ached to imbibe of her flavor again, to kiss her with the slow, heady thoroughness he so rarely took the time to enjoy. Though her gaze remained focused on the portrait, her eyes had darkened and her breathing grew increasingly fast. He grinned at the knowledge she fought the same desire. Yes, the next time she called his name, it would be for all the right reasons. “Your aunt’s mouth is closed,” he continued in a tone thick with lust, “but yours I prefer open.” He stroked his thumb upward, against the arch of Kristiana’s cheekbone. Then, slowly, he caressed his thumb down her neck to the fair skin that showed at the opening of her coat. Her pulse flitted beneath his touch. “I’ve been told you’re willful, but I find I like that quality. Especially when it’s your willful tongue that’s pressed up against mine. And then there’s your fine, plump backside. Never have I felt an ass so—” Her loud gasp brought him up short. “Have I said how very much in love my uncle and aunt were?” she asked quickly. “This setting was done for their betrothal.” Aware he still held her rapt, Tavish thought to start where he’d left off, but then he turned to look once more upon the painting she seemed so taken by and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a gasp. He dropped his hand to his side and swiveled to stare at the couple. His deduction was confirmed by both their attire and portrait’s setting. He looked back at Kristiana. “By God, they’re English!” She gaped at him. The passion he’d suspected burned hot in her gaze and her brow crinkled with fine lines. “Whatever do you mean?” “Your uncle and aunt were English.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “And your point, sir?” Tavish couldn’t stop his smirk, nor keep from reaching out to once more stroke her cheek. “My point, darling, is your precious Scottish blood is every bit as tainted as mine.” She wrenched from his touch, putting distance between them with two backward steps. Her eyes flashed hotter yet, blue fire all but singeing him in its magnitude. “I am not your darling, nor ever will I be. As for my blood, ’tis folly you speak. I’ve never even been to England. I care not to go.” He took a single step forward that brought him within half a foot of her, and forced his smirk into a reckless grin. What he really wanted to do was pin her with his darkest scowl and tell her just how inept and addled her reasoning was.Instead,hesaid, “I cared not to go either,darling ,” he said from between clenched teeth,“but we don’t always have a choice as to what we wish to have happen.”


Kristiana drew her coat tighter, but said no more, merely continued to glare at him. Loathe to argue with the woman he would soon spend his nights pleasuring and seeking gratification from in return, he shook off his temper and offered his arm. “Come, m’lady, introduce me to these villagers o’ yers.” Her eyebrows rose and her lips twitched, almost as if she fought a smile. “If you think a false tongue will sway their faith, ‘tis a waste of your efforts, my laird. Actions speak far louder than words, or so I am told.” “Then what you mean to say, Kristiana, is that whilst your words made it quite clear you wished me to stop, I should have instead listened to your actions. The way you arched your nipples so shamelessly against my mouth, the wetness that lathered the lips of your cunt, the way you wriggled your ass again and again against my hands as if you couldn’t get enough, and continued to…violate you, I believe it was?” The twitching of her lips ceased and her gaze became frigid. The husky tremor in her words assured she wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she pretended. “You’ve asked me to assist you in gathering the villagers, sir, which I’ve done. Now I suggest you speak with them before they grow weary of waiting for their laird and turn to stoning him.” Tavish’s smirk returned with renewed force. Warmth he deduced to be amusement settled in his upper chest, and his expression became an all out grin. Scowling in return, Kristiana turned on her heel and made her way to the manor’s front door. He chuckled in her wake. If it was stoning the villagers chose to partake in, he held no doubt their lady’s would be the first stone cast.

***** The last thing Kristiana wanted was to like Tavish. More to be lured in by promises spoken in his deep Scottish burr—not the broken dialect he’d used at the manor, rather the proud and true tongue of a born leader. But as he stood before the villagers and shared his visions for the future of Landon, she could not help her feeling of hope. And maybe even a little respect. “I would not lie to you, I’m every bit the Englishman my brother was.” A collective gasp stole through the crowd with this little known and even more rarely discussed truth. “But ‘tis Scottish blood that runs the truest.” “Ye fought for the bastards,” a stout man cried out from the center of the pack. “How do we know ‘twas not yer own hand that felled our laird?” Tavish nodded, the secure half-smile never leaving his face. “Aye, sir, I was at Culloden, but you’re wrong about my faith. I foughtunder the name of the King, but I foughtfor the Highlanders. Whilst several men were injured, only one was downed by my hand and that man was an English soldier.” His lips drew into a hard line as he added, “One who robbed your late laird, my brother, of his life.” Kristiana’s heart turned over with the barely concealed ache in his words. She fought the sudden urge to massage the harsh lines of sorrow from his face. Was it possible he spoke the truth? Had he truly killed a man over Tomas?


“How can we believe you?” She heard the plaintive yearning behind the question, but not until Tavish met her eyes and a crooked grin turned his full, sensuous mouth did she realize she’d voiced it herself. “You have only my word, my lady. If you allow me to prove myself, I will show you where my loyalty lies. I will show you the worthiness of your patience.” She shivered at the promise in his black gaze. His attention flickered to her lips, and she held her breath against the anticipation that assaulted her, the sudden stroke of heat that caused her limbs to tremble. The wetness that had gathered in her undergarments back at the manor grew heavier and she could smell her arousal on the air. Did the devil know the effect he had on her? How badly he made her want? His wicked words about her actions two nights prior had her so hot, so ready to beg to feel his mouth on her again, to feel his fingers fondling her nether lips. Only this time she would not have him stop after a few idle strokes that took her to the edge and no farther, but bury his fingers deep into her slick core, until she was screaming his name in delirium. At the image of him doing just that, liquid heat coiled between her thighs and an intense tingling had her shifting her stance. As if he knew her mind, he lifted his gaze to hers and winked. “Later, my lady, we shall bring an end to your squirming.” The whispered promise had been spoken for her ears only, and still the idea others might have heard had her breathing increasing, her nipples turning to hard peaks that ached for his words to come true here and now. Sweet Lord! He was turning her into a mindless tramp. Tavish returned his attention to the people. When he spoke next, his voice rang louder, prouder, truer for his immoral actions, she was certain of it. “I wish to see this land restored to its former glory, the men, women, and bairns who once called Landon home return to their clansmen. First and foremost, I wish to see those gathered here before me this day trust again. In yourselves, in your neighbors. In your laird. “’Tis the truth my heritage is flawed, but I’d wager few of you can claim better of your ancestry. Why, even your lady’s father, the beloved Rector Farleigh, God rest his soul, was a descendent of the English.” A muffled cacophony of whispers and gasps fell over the crowd. Kristiana was confident her own gasp of mortification was the loudest of them all. “’Tis the truth, is it not, Lady Kristiana?” Tavish stared at her, his eyes burning for a response, and the respect and lust she’d been feeling toward him crumbled in turn to the snow at her feet. She could not lie to her people, no matter how much she might be tempted to do so. They trusted her to guide them. They only stood gathered today because she asked them to do so. Resigned, she lowered her chin and nodded. “Aye, my laird. ‘Tis the truth. My family can trace their roots to England.” His large, warm fingers settled beneath her chin and he lifted her face so she was forced to meet his eyes. The compassion she’d witnessed back at the manor claimed his dark features, involuntarily softening her opinion of him. “’Tisn’t something to be ashamed of, my lady. ‘Tis only your past. If we


lived in the past, what would we have to look forward to on the morrow?” Powerless to find her voice, she thought to pull away from him, but his words, his expression held her captive. The sinful urge to feel his hands and mouth upon her naked flesh returned in a mad dash, stirring heat low in her belly. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as her mind whirled with what felt to be drunkenness. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him. And it was so very, very wrong. “He has a point.” The woman’s loudly spoken words brought Kristiana from her trance. Still, she made no move to step away from the strength Tavish exuded. The raw virility. The maddening effect he had on both her mind and body. Shewas mad. For she found once more that she wanted to like him. Wanted to respect his efforts. Wanted to forget their pasts, the present, and all those gathered here today, and knock him onto his back in the snow, strip away his breeches, and impale herself upon the pulsing length of his thick shaft. “Prove it!” a man called out. “Later, darling,” Tavish whispered huskily, then casting her a smile hot enough to warm the coldest and most deeply buried of hearts, he released her to address the crowd. “I shall prove it. On the morrow, we begin the resurrection of Landon. By the first of the new year, Hogmanay, this village will be restored to its former glory.” “We?” a stunned man questioned. “You plan to stand by and assist, m’laird?” “Aye, I plan to swing the first hammer.” Silence reigned for several long seconds and then one brave fool clapped. Slowly, more of the crowd joined in, until a sound so merry and hopeful it brought tears to Kristiana’s eyes rang through the streets of Landon. The sound of deliverance. Of hope. Optimism restored by the least likely of saviors. She forced back her emotions when Tavish turned and offered his arm. She took it out of civility, with the idea her show of alliance with their laird might press the villagers’ faith ever farther in his direction. As for her faith, she wasn’t completely convinced yet. Close, but not quite. She waited until the villagers’ excited voices were nary a whisper behind them to make this fact known. “That was a foolish move, my laird. Making promises you’ve no intention of keeping merely to earn respect.” He stopped short and, using the arm she had looped through his, brought her around to face him. His dark eyebrows drew together, and what could only be described as lecherous amusement washed through his gaze. “And which promises would those be, my lady? The ones I made to the villagers, or the ones I made to you?” The husk in his words sent her heart thrumming. As much as she had thought she wanted him moments before, needed to feel his long, sturdy staff embedded deep inside her, whether they be surrounded by people or alone, she wasn’t ready to admit it aloud. For once he knew the truth, there would be no stopping him. She attempted to pull her arm free of his iron grip, but he held fast, making it clear she would be going nowhere until he allowed it.


Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and pretended she had no idea what he spoke of. “You made no promises to me, sir.” Tavish raised his free hand to caress along her cheek, down the column of her throat to play at the vee where bare flesh met the edge of her coat and gown. The amusement in his eyes turned to outright lust, and her belly rolled with a fit of anxiety, even as her nipples tightened with expectation. She fought back the desire creeping through her, rendering her limbs all but weightless and her inner thighs damp with a sticky moisture that seemed to be in endless supply in his presence. Where they stood, sheltered by the wood at the outskirts of Landon, they could easily be spotted. Even if she wished to respond to the hunger in his potent gaze, she could not. And she did not wish it. Not now. Not here. At least, not the sensible portions of her. His thumb settled in the hollow of her throat and his lips drew up in a wicked grin. “Oh, but I did, Kristiana. And you agreed.” “I did no such thing,” she squeaked out, struggling to breathe normally as his thumb stroked over her skin with a languidness that was slowly driving her mad. Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord. He was doing it again, she knew. Drugging her with his touch, with his voice. With his thumb edging ever closer to her swollen nipple. She had no idea how he’d managed to glide his hand past her garments to the rise of her breast, but he had done it masterfully, and in such a way that he had her panting, eager for his stroke. Her nipples ached as the memory of his indecent words at the manor again reached her. She’d been so hot and needy, her thighs sweaty and her sex heavy with desire. And she’d been clearly senseless. He was a seducer, a scoundrel by nature, and she¼she was like a lost lamb to the slaughter. His thumb reached its destination, petting her beaded nipple with hard, demanding strokes, and she forgot about time and place. Wetness dripped from her slightly parted thighs, past her thin undergarments to dampen her legs. Sweat broke out on her upper lip and her hands fisted with tension. Her whole body was afire. Flames of raw need licked at her center, flames only one man could put out. Take me, she silently pleaded. Make me yours. The pressure of his thumb left her suddenly, and she snapped open her eyes. His hot, spicy breath rolled into her face, and she gasped at his nearness. With the slightest of movements their bodies would be flush, with the simplest rush of skirts and opening of breeches, his shaft would be inside her, filling her, unleashing the unknown. Nay, she was not ready for that! “Prove it,” he rasped. “Show me you don’t want what your eyes tell me you do.” “I don’t want you!” Kristiana shouted, praying the volume of her words would make him believe and he would release her. But he didn’t set her free. No, the fool chuckled. “So, is that what your eyes have been saying? That they want me? You really are a wanton little chit, my lady. I find it rather refreshing. Or perhaps it’s arousing. Yes, I believe that’s what it is.”


Damnation! He’d talked her into a circle. Made her say something that wasn’t true. At least, something she didn’t wish to be true. Drawing from the crispness of the air around them, she said as coolly as her heated body would allow, “The only thing my eyes said to you, sir, was to stop handling me.” “Ah, but darling, handling is a necessity if you’re to be my mistress.” He said it so matter-of-factly for a long moment she could only blink, and then she put all her strength into being free. She pounded at his chest and kicked his shins, but he gave no quarter, merely held her within his grasp as if she were nothing more than a helpless puppet. “Have you gone completely mad then?” she asked breathlessly. “Tell me you don’t want that, darling. Tell me you don’t want this.” This? What was this? His intention registered the same moment that his mouth slammed over hers. He drew her tight against him, the hard muscular wall of his chest a solid strength against her. A warmth and comfort she yearned to sink into. Only she could not. She would not. She was a lady, not some strumpet to be made into a man’s plaything. Even if that man did kiss so expertly he made her forget her name. His forceful tongue spilled into her mouth, swirling and dipping, violating her in the most pleasurable way imaginable. She fought the urge to kiss him back, to glide her tongue over the coarseness of his and feast upon his masculine flavor. But when his hand slid from her arm to pull her hair free of the bun she’d secured it in, she lost the fight. His fingers drove through her tresses, winding in their length, tugging gently, yet in a way that shot straight to her womb. Her blood boiled with raw need, her thighs trembled, and a low cry of ecstasy broke from her lips. He moved his mouth to her neck and grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh. She shivered with the delightful sensations swirling through her body, whimpering when his teasing nips turned to nearly painful bites. His mouth went even lower and his tongue dipped beneath the edge of her garments to caress the farthest reach of her breasts. She wanted him to go farther, ached to feel his tongue foraging on her nipples, on her belly, on the swollen, damp folds of flesh between her thighs. As if he knew where she longed to be touched, he let free his hold on her arm and slid his hand down her skirts to press against her aching mound. Through the many layers, his touch was restrained and still she could feel it. Wanted to feel it more completely. Without the layers, without anything between them at all. Skin on skin. Body on body. Hardness to softness. “You wish to feel my hands upon your flesh, don’t you, Kristiana? To feel my tongue dipping into your slippery pussy. My cock buried deeply inside you?” Tavish questioned between plying her chest with damp and biting kisses. “Aye…” she breathed, her voice strained as the press of his palm came ever harder against her throbbing sex. He was pushing her back to that edge, the edge of climax he had brought her to several times since his arrival, and this time she did not wish to stop him. “I want that¼so badly. Make me explode, Tavish.” “Here?”


She registered his astonishment, before she closed her eyes and ground her hips against him. She moaned at the feel of his impressive erection sliding along her cleft, tickling the nub buried beneath too many layers. “Aye. Here. I can’t wait any longer.” He pulled back slightly and lifted his thumb against her mound, petting her inflamed center though her gown. She wanted his hands beneath the material, but couldn’t find her voice to say so. He increased the pressure of his thumb, dipping harder and faster, slicing through her cleft as if nothing but air separated them. His other hand went to her bottom and caught her up in a hard grip. Instinctively she bucked against his palm, needing more, yet already feeling so much. Blood roared through her ears and her heart took off as he worked his hand between her butt cheeks to roughly grasp and squeeze one in his hand. He caught her neck in his teeth and nibbled ravenously, and any strength that still remained in her legs gave way. She was so close to falling over the edge, so close to feeling the rush of orgasm rippling through her body. One touch of his hands on her slippery sex and she would be gone. She searched for her voice. “I¼I want¼“ “Yes, what do you want, darling?” “¼you to touch me.” His laugh was rough, erratic, as if he struggled to hold himself back. “I am.” “Nay. Touch me for real.” “Kristiana—” “Do it!” she demanded, balling her skirts in her hand and lifting them ever higher. The hand at her backside fell away and Tavish did as she asked, grabbing her skirts up in a flourish until all that covered her was a thin layer of cotton. With an audible groan, he parted the slit in the center of her undergarments and finally his thumb was upon her mound. She arched up as it coasted over the rim of her swollen lips, daring him to bury it into her center with her helpless, erotic mewls. And then he did enter her, just far enough to rub along the sensitive nub that shuddered for release. “Oh, aye,” she sighed loudly, as he strummed the rough pad of his finger against the swollen bud. Tremors shook through her body, and he gathered her ever closer in his arms, growling as he once more claimed her neck in a bruising kiss. His fondling grew to a furious pace that mimicked the onslaught of shivers crashing through Kristiana’s body. Her insides felt like liquid honey, heated beyond the boiling point—then they passed that point—bursting into a tumultuous explosion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life, as the orgasm tore through her, drenching her undergarments, her thighs, and his hand with the sticky juices of her arousal. He held her in his embrace another few seconds then he removed his thumb from her slit to bring it to his lips. Her breath snagged as he pulled it into his mouth and slowly suckled away the juices that cloaked it. His dark gaze registered every bit of the lust he felt, the same lust that still ate at her, making her yearn for more.


“You taste exquisite, my lady. I shall count the minutes until my tongue is inside you, licking at the folds of your cunt, suckling at your clit until your come flows freely.” She gasped at his brash words, and he silenced her with his mouth. For an instant the kiss was forceful, demanding and full of promise, and then it slowed to a chaste meeting of lips and he released her. Tavish grinned, his smile so broad he looked as though he had just captured the greatest of prizes. “We’ve reached an agreement then?” Kristiana was breathless, her body afire with rekindled need, and in that moment, as judgment dawned, realized she was also a senseless ninny. And he had in fact captured himself a prize. Or rather he could have, had he chosen to do so. She had played the part of the whore, had all but begged him to throw her back on the snow and have his way with her for anyone to see. Jesu! She had wanted him to take her virtue. Disgusted with her behavior, she narrowed her gaze and stepped backward, putting distance between them as she spoke from between gritted teeth. “Nay. ‘Twas a horrible mistake what we did. One that will never be repeated. I lied about wanting you. I don’t. I won’t. And I would rather be hanged than be your mistress.” And then she ran. For as much as running was cowardly, it appeared the only way to escape the desires of the devil and worse, far worse, her own wicked will to give in.

Chapter Four

The hollow cry of a beast shook Castle Wynderon. Her heart slamming wildly in her chest, Kristiana bolted upright in bed. She’d never been a heavy sleeper, but even if she had been, the terror in the animal’s shriek would have woken her. The sound was gone and still she fought a shiver. There were few wolves around this part of the Highlands, and even if the sound had been made by a pack animal, it seemed unlikely it would have echoed through the thick stone of the castle walls. Whatever the source of the wail, it appeared to have passed. On a deep sigh, she lay back. The odds that sleep would claim her again were slim. Four days ago she would have spent the remainder of the night perched on the parapet, awaiting the rise of the morrow. No longer would she make that trip, knowing her space might already be occupied by another. Especially not after today. She’d acted such a fool, the strumpet Tavish claimed her to be. If she were to find him upon the stone wall tonight, with nothing but a coverlet cloaking the hard ridges of his flesh, his fine masculinity erect and


glistening in the moonlight, she would assuredly throw herself at him all over again. Aye, what a ninny. A low cry broke Kristiana from her thoughts. Once more she shivered. The wail was deep, fierce, and far too near to be coming from outside. No wolf, but what then… Of course, the dog. Tavish’s staff had arrived just before the evening meal. A mixed group of men and women ranging from Scottish to British to an old man returned from the colonies. Along with them they’d brought their master’s hound, a hulk of an animal whose black eyes and large, honed body resembled its owner’s to chilling perfection. Aye, the mongrel hound. Surely that’s what howled into the night. But why did he sound so pained? Almost as if he were being tortured. What if the animal were lost in the winding maze of passageways? Or worse, had managed to trap itself in an empty room? The dog might not be the most affectionate of animals, but it would be heartless of her to leave it there to bawl. One pass through the castle, Kristiana promised as she slipped from the bed and pulled on her robe. It would only take a short while and was a far better way to spend her time than staring into the dark, trying not to think about the devil of a man who turned her insides to liquid fire and her brain to a puddle of mush. After lighting the candelabra she kept near her bedside, she slipped from the bedchamber and made her way down the drafty hall, waiting for the sound to come again. She’d walked the entire second floor and had made it back to her chamber door when a bellow loud enough to wake the dead lit the night. Heart hammering with the unexpected wail, she rushed in the direction of the sound. Once more it came, lower but still so anguished. It carried on the air, guiding her to the last place she wanted to be. Tavish’s bedchamber. She stopped short and scowled. If the dog was in there, he was fine. But the roar the animal released an instant later did not sound fine. It sounded frightened, terrified even. Without another thought, she pushed open the large wooden door and peered inside. Moonlight spilled through the north facing window, streaking across the massive four-poster bed. She held her breath, afraid to look any higher than the foot of the bed for fear every inch of Tavish’s hard, muscled flesh would be visible. On an indrawn breath, she lifted her gaze. He was not naked, rather wore buckskin knee breeches. The portions of his wide chest visible to the night were bared, but that isn’t what caused her to gasp. It was the lower part of his left leg that brought the sound into her throat. The flesh was marred with long gashes, raised in some spots, bumpy and rigid in others. She was across the room and touching the old wounds before she could stop herself. Up close, in the candlelight, the scars were far uglier. A mixture of burn marks and jagged lacerations that made her belly heave with joint forces of sorrow for the man asleep and revulsion for the man


responsible for his pain. Who had done this to him and why? Perhaps his reputation as a blackguard had caught up with him. A jealous husband had sought revenge after finding him in his wife’s bed. Nay. As much as Kristiana might have mixed feelings for the man, she did not believe him the type to dally with a married woman. So then what? Was war to blame for his disfigurement? And were there scars elsewhere? Her curiosity too great to ignore, she moved to the head of the bed and lifted the candelabra higher. Once more she gasped. This time the sound was not due to old wounds. Nary a mark grazed his flesh, nothing more than a gentle dusting of dark, crisp hair lined the broad expanse of muscled sinew. Though he’d worn nothing at all the night they’d met on the parapet, she’d been too shocked by his presence, his demands, to take a worthy look at his body. Now she could not pull her gaze away. The wide berth of his upper body dipped to a narrow waist. His breeches fit snugly over his thighs and his immense masculinity pressed so fiercely against the buckskin, she couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to keep it contained during the day. The feral sound that had brought her to his chamber rang through her ears. She snapped her gaze to his face as she realized the source of the noise. It was he. Not his hound, but the man himself. As the sound grew more caustic, his dark head thrashed against the pillows. His expression drew into one of suffering, his brow knit heavily and his lips pressed into a fine line. Though she’d thought nothing of it before, she realized now he wore no covers. The tail end of the bedclothes was wrapped around his neck. Holy Mother, he was choking to death! “Tavish.” Her voice came out a shaky whisper she knew would never pull him from sleep. Slumber that would become permanent did she not do something soon. She tried again, louder. “Tavish! You must wake up.” His helpless wails ceased as did his thrashing, and he was silent. Too silent. Kristiana’s heart crashed against her ribs as the ramification of his stillness sank in. She could not let him die. He was their laird, their savior! The devil who dared to make her want things she shouldn’t. Aware she needed the candelabra’s light to see by, she quickly placed it on the table near the bed. Drawing on her courage, she threw herself over him. “Tavish!” she cried, shaking his shoulders in a desperate attempt to frighten life back into him. “Wake up, damn it! You will not die!” Still he made no sound. Bloody hell, what was she to do?


Could she possibly work the bedclothes from his neck? She had to try. Curling her fingers beneath the cool linen, she attempted to pry it from his heated flesh. Her hand stilled and she drew in a hasty breath when she felt his erratic pulse. Thank God, he was not dead. Yet. Damnation! She had to get the infernal bedclothes off his neck. Using the haphazard grasp she managed to attain, she jerked at the linen again and again, but the bedding stayed firm, corded around his throat. Suffocating him. What? What to do? She lifted her head and searched his closed eyes for an answer. If only she could wake him, he could remove the murdering bedclothes himself. But how… Her gaze fell to the hard, compressed lines of his mouth and the answer that came to her stilled the air in her throat. Nay. She couldn’t. What if he thought— His hollow cry of misery cut her off and she knew she was out of options. If it were her only chance, she must do it. Sliding her legs down to straddle his middle, she drew a steadying breath then lowered to his lips. Just one kiss. If that didn’t work…It would work. It had to.

***** The bloody battle scene before Tavish’s eyes faded to a haze of red and black. He couldn’t make out his surroundings, but he felt safe, secure here. That the battle had passed. No more pain, no more suffering. Only the quiet of peace. A softness pressed over his body, warmth splintered through his limbs. The faint smell of a lady’s perfume stimulated his senses. And the pressure on his lips…soft, wet. And was that a tongue? A kitten’s tongue perhaps, lapping at him like some fine cream? “Mmm…” The throaty feminine murmur sent the fog that had settled over Tavish’s brain scurrying away, and all at once he realized this was no dream. This was really happening. He knew this taste, this sweet flavor mingled with the enticing taste of sin. A kitten for sure. A wanton sex kitten who worked magic on his mind and body. Lady Kristiana. She’d come to him. After she had run away from him, that look of abject horror spoiling her lovely face, he’d had second thoughts about making her his mistress. But as she lay over him now, licking and sucking so fervently at his mouth, those misgivings vanished. He lifted his head far enough to remove the bedclothes that had once again found their way around his


neck, and then slid his hands over the slimness of her back. He tugged her lush curves to him as he took over the wild kiss she’d begun. Plunging his tongue past her parted lips, he drank of her flavor, of the heat she so willingly offered. Continuing the duel, imbibing in the recesses of her mouth, he slid his hands beneath her robe to cup the plumpness of her ass. She wriggled against him, panting into his mouth when he gripped her buttocks more firmly, parting the cheeks with his grip. His cock pulsed in response, the buckskin that cloaked it painfully tight. He dared not free his tumescent penis yet, for he wanted to sink into Kristiana’s luscious, young body far too much. Once they were skin to heated skin, the taut control he struggled to hold in check would snap. He wouldn’t fuck her so hastily this first time. Not when there would be endless opportunities to do so in the future. Tavish broke free of her mouth to nuzzle at her neck. He nipped and bit at the sensitive skin, each of her throaty whimpers bringing as much pain as pleasure to his heavily confined shaft. Needing to take the added weight of her body from his erection, he rolled them until she lay on the bed beneath him. Once more he claimed her neck, biting her flesh almost cruelly as he caught the thin material of her nightdress in his hands and worked it upward. Her frantic huffs and puffs ceased for an instant when he uncovered her naked mound. Then they came louder, her hands drawing up from the bed to tangle in his thick hair. She urged him on with barely audible whispers of desire. He ground the thick, hot length of his cock against her pussy and she mewled like a hungry kitten in his ear. Growling his want, he slid a hand between them to seek out the lips of her cunt. His first touch on her damp, silken curls was pure deliverance. She had tried to convince him what happened earlier today was a mistake, that she didn’t want him. The truth of her lust was revealed to him in that sodden stroke. Her body’s juices soaked her inner thighs. His fingers burned to thrust past her curls into the heated cavern of her core, to plunge into its deepest recesses, far past the point he allowed himself entry earlier today. First he needed one thing. Her assent. Stroking his fingers at the edge of her swelled sex, Tavish lifted his gaze to her face. He could just make out her eyes in the candlelight. The darkest of blues, riddled with undeniable passion. Her insolent mouth was parted slightly and her bold tongue ran over her full lower lip. She looked insatiable, exquisite. And soon to be his. “You’ve agreed then?” he rasped. “Agreed?” Kristiana questioned breathlessly. “To be my mistress?” Her eyes edged wide. “Your mistress?” His fingers stilled at the stupefaction in her tone. “Is that not why you’re here? Do you not wish to feel my hands on you? My fingers petting your slick, swollen pussy?” She remained silent, their mingled breaths the only sound heard in the cool flood of night. He resumed his caress against her folds, stroking the edges of their dampness but going no farther. He would get the truth from her, were it the last thing he did. “Would you have me bury my fingers inside your tight, wet body, my lady?” He slipped one large,


work-callused finger in, stopping to strum over her puffed up clitoris. “Would you have me take this delectable bud between my lips and feast upon it until your sweet come fills my mouth?” She arched against his touch, grinding her dripping cunt against his finger, taking him further into her parted flesh as her grip on his hair became nearly intolerable. “Aye. Oh…I want that.” Tavish heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, the truth. Drawing back on his knees, he lowered between her spread thighs and added another finger to the first. He separated the folds of her soaking pussy to reveal her distended clit. The sight of her glistening pink cunt splayed wide in the soft spray of light had his balls tightening and his cock clamoring for release. Grunting in the back of his throat, he caught her hips in his hands and lifted her mound to his mouth. The scent of her sex infiltrated his nostrils, sending his blood into a mad boil, and he urgently thrust his tongue against her slit. He lapped at her damp, shuddering pussy, devouring her juices all the while restraining himself from burying his tongue fully into her sweet center. With effort, he pulled back. “Do you want this, Kristiana? Do you want me?” “Please,” she cried, bucking up in search of his mouth. “Please…” He drew his thumb between her thighs and pressed it against her cleft, once more separating the passion engorged flesh of her cunt to reveal her clitoris. He blew on the deep red bud and it quivered with the need for fulfillment. His groin tightened in turn, his balls drawing fiercely against the buckskin. Bloody hell, he needed to be free of the sadistic breeches before he came inside them. “Please what, Kristiana?” he goaded, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the trembling, dewy nub. Her nails drove hard into his scalp. “Please…make…” “Make what?” “Make me yours.” Tavish could not stop his grin, for at this moment he believed sweeter words had never been spoken. Hastily, he moved from her and divested his breeches. Then he was over her again, throbbing with the need to plunge his cock into her pussy until his balls slapped a merciful tune against her ass. “Please hurry,” she wailed, reclaiming her grip on his hair. “’Tis almost an unbearable ache.” He knew the same agony, knew the need to come so badly his heart raced to what was surely a perilous limit. He petted her slick vulva once more, and then he plunged his fingers deep inside her. The thrill of her heat, her wetness, washed over him, firing his blood to a raging crescendo that died a sudden ugly, barely plausible death. He drew his shaking hand away from her body as the air in his lungs burned with his exertion. “What the bloody…” “Do not stop!” Kristiana implored, tugging fiercely at his hair. He tore free of her grip and reared back on the bed, shook his head in disbelief. He locked on her


wide-eyed gaze against his will. Passion still clouded her eyes, but beyond that she looked dejected, as if his leaving her were some wicked sin. In truth, continuing would be an iniquity. At least, to his mind. “Tavish…please…” Before he could succumb to her husky pleading, he stumbled off the bed and jerked on his breeches. “How?” he demanded, his hands curled at his sides. “How is it possible you could still be a virgin? Tomas ruined you. He took your innocence!” She rose up on her knees and crawled across the bed to his side. Reaching out to him, she gripped his arm. Her long, red hair spilled wildly around her face, her breasts jiggled enticingly, and scent of her sweet, heady sex cloaked the air. He once more fought the urge to give in to her. “Nay. You did, sir. You took my innocence.” “I have done no such thing,” he denied, putting distance between them. He’d only come damned close to it. The air squeezed in his lungs all over again as he recalled the sensation of encountering her maidenhead. Kristiana nodded. “Aye, ‘tis the truth. I haven’t been innocent since the moment we kissed. I want you. And you want me. Make me your mistress, Tavish.” “Damn it.” Dragging his hand through his hair, he stalked to the window and looked out into the night. He saw no stars, no moon. He saw naught but her eyes beckoning him to come back to her and finish what they’d begun. He would not do it! He would not fuck an innocent for sheer pleasure. He looked back at her and sneered over his disreputable behavior. “I am not the scoundrel you have been led to believe, my lady. Never have I stolen a maiden’s virtue, whilst she was drunk from my kisses or sober as the day is long, and I will not start tonight. Now be gone from here.” She scrambled to her feet, crossed to him and set her chin as she said too boldly for a chit of such inexperience, “’Tis been said, my laird, that actions speak louder than words. I could tell how badly you wanted me the other night.” Without hesitation, she placed her palm on his shaft. “I can feel your hardness now. You are ready.” His cock leapt beneath her touch and his breeches strained too snugly to allow for proper circulation. Or, apparently, for proper judgment as well, as Tavish yearned to give in to her wanton demands. Holding tightly to the reins of common sense, he marched to the chamber door and threw it open. He forced a scowl into place though he burned to apologize for taunting her into coming here in the first place. Had he only known the truth… “What I am, my lady, is tired of these insipid games of yours. If I wanted to bed an awkward virgin, I would take a wife.” Unable to look upon the hurt that flooded her delicate features, he folded his arms over his chest and turned away. “Leave now. I am through with you.” The sound of Kristiana’s sniffle was almost his undoing. He dropped his arms to his sides and balled his hands to stop from turning back and pulling her into his embrace. The slightest of breezes lifted the hair at his nape as she hurried past, and then she was gone. The hollow slam of the door in her wake echoed the unexpected pang in his chest. The one that said he’d just lost something he’d never even realized he had.


***** The village of Landon rang with the sounds of the forthcoming Christmas. Yule logs had been gathered and lit in every home with hearths. The fire in the castle’s hearth flamed the highest of all. Two fat, thick logs—one of birch and another of ash to accommodate the diversity of the castle’s inhabitants—burned the night through, as did the candles placed at each and every window. Happiness surrounded Kristiana and she couldn’t even force a smile. Ninny. Ninny. Ninny. Would the word never leave her? Or perhaps she was no longer a ninny. Perhaps, she had advanced to an outright fool. Two days had past since she had thrown herself at Tavish and he had denied her. Still she could not erase their encounter from her mind. Perhaps it was because she had so stupidly believed she saved him from choking to death, or perhaps it was more the ugly wounds that scarred his virile flesh. Whatever the reason, she’d felt so close to him, as if they’d understood each other, knew each other’s sorrow. Each other’s passions. Then he’d discovered her maidenhead and he had cast her away. She’d spent these last two days feeling ashamed, sorrowful, hiding out from the scorn of the devil’s dark gaze. No longer. He was the one who should feel badly. He was the liar here. The one who’d built a reputation around the skill of drugging maidens with his kiss. A skill he declared to not even possess! If she thought they had shared something special that night, she’d been mistaken. They had shared nothing but a moment of lust. Aye, she would feel no more shame, no more sorrow. The holiday season was upon them and there was much to celebrate. At least, in the villagers’ eyes.

***** Tavish pressed his mount up the steep hillside to Castle Wynderon. He’d worked the day through, mindless to the cold, mindless to the merriment of the villagers that surrounded him. Only one thing claimed his attention the past two days—a blue-eyed chit who knew no better than to ask to be ruined. He’d done his best to keep his distance from Kristiana—had even taken to sitting at opposite ends of the table during evening meal, but he couldn’t stop from looking, from wondering. From wanting. Bloody hell, he wanted her worse than ever. And he could not have her. Would not have her. He had no mind for a wife, certainly not one he wanted with such fierce longing, and Lady Kristiana deserved far more than to be made a man’s mistress. He would end this hunger coursing through his soul, distracting him to no end during the day and haunting his sleep at night. In a sennight, when the larger of the repairs were complete, he would ride to Inverness and find a strumpet to fuck. Once he rid himself of the lascivious cravings that claimed him day and night, he could forge a friendship with Kristiana. The familial relationship they should have had from the start. Only they wouldn’t be family, because she was not his sister-in-law. She was also not truly the lady of the castle. She had never been.


What had happened with Tomas? Why the rumors? Why the feigned marriage? He had to know, for the sake of his sanity.

***** “Laird MacBain would like to see you in his study.” Unexpected heat rushed into Kristiana’s belly at the mention of Tavish. She scowled at the reaction. She must be coming down with a sickness for surely the warmth had naught to do with the devilish Englishman who shared her home and hearth. She turned to a slim, white-haired Tompkins, one of several servants who now resided at Castle Wynderon, and did her best to smile. She failed miserably. She spoke from between gritted teeth. “How nice for the laird.” “He asked for your immediate company.” “You can tell Laird MacBain to stick his quill pen up his¼“ She trailed off at the man’s raised eyebrows and flushed. Since she had decided to leave her joint feelings of shame and sorrow behind, her anger over Tavish’s rejection had grown. Still, it wasn’t right to take her temper out on anyone other than the man it was directed at. “I’m sorry, Tompkins. You’re only doing your duties. Tell his lairdship I will be with him shortly.” Of no mind to let her foul mood cool off when she could use it on the man it was meant for, she counted to thirty and then went to Tavish’s study. He pinned her with a dark look the moment she entered. “How?” he demanded. Pasting a wide smile on her face, she took a seat across the desk from him. “How what, my laird? How did I make it down here so quickly? How is it I can smile when looking upon your countenance? How can the sky be so blue on a day as cold as this one? I find a bit of clarification is necessary, sir.” For an instant, the crooked grin flirted with his lips, and then a scowl reclaimed his face. He drummed his fingers along the desk’s shiny mahogany surface. She fought the memory of where those long, elegant, wondrously callused fingers had been previously. Where she ached to feel them at this very moment. Stroking over her swollen feminine flesh, buried almost completely into her center. The heat that coiled in her belly moments before returned with renewed force. She crossed her legs in an attempt to curtail the unwanted desire dampening her thighs. She would not lust for this man. Nay, this derisive monster. “Do not toy with me, Kristiana,” Tavish said sharply, “I’m in no mood for your insolent disposition. Tell me the truth. Why did my brother marry you?” She dragged her gaze back to his face, thankful for the reprieve. Though, truthfully, staring upon his full, sensuous mouth and remembering the strength of his forceful tongue suckling at her engorged sex was no


better than fantasizing over his fingers. Aye, it was far worse. She heaved a sigh at the unbidden wetness that gathered in her undergarments and uncrossed her legs, determined to forget the allure of her companion. “The truth is, sir, you do not want to know.” “Kristiana!” Resigned, she sank back in her seat. She had no longing to speak the truth on Tomas, but she had even less longing to continue to sit here and crave the one thing she knew better than to want—for him to bring an end to her salacious appetite. A hunger she swore she saw reflected in the heat of his potent gaze. As they continued to stare at one another, the intoxicating scent of sandalwood drifted across the massive desk. Kristiana inhaled deeply of the fine masculine scent. She had not noticed the fine smell before today. Why did he wear it now? Was he planning to entertain a lady this evening? A bolt of jealousy stiffened her spine and she pulled her gaze away, more determined than ever to be free of him. “Fine. I will tell you about Tomas. But might I suggest you help yourself to some whisky first?” His gaze narrowed. “What is it?” She drew a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of temperament that would follow her admittance. “Your brother…he had unusual tastes.” Tavish banged his fist down upon the desk and growled. “I care not for his appetite, I want to know why he married you!” “I am trying to explain, you dolt!” Passion rifled through his gaze, and Kristiana held her tongue from further insult. Drawing a long breath, she continued, “Your brother favored…men.” He shook his head as if he had heard her wrong. “Hewhat ?” She nodded, relieved to finally have this dark secret off her chest. “’Tis the truth, my laird. My father, Rector Farleigh, caught Tomas unawares one day. He was in the barn with my brother, and they were…you know.” Once more, he shook his head. “No. I don’t think I do.” “They were being promiscuous,” she bit out swiftly. His gaze narrowed farther and then his black eyebrows drew together in a heavy furrow. His lips compressed into a tight line. She knew at that moment he understood. “Hell and damnation, you mean to tell me my brother preferred to fuck men?” A sennight ago, his harshly spoken words would have caused her to stammer or blush. Today she merely nodded. “To put it bluntly, aye.” Tavish rose from his chair and secured the whisky she first suggested. He poured a glass and tossed the


drink back. Still, he shook his head. “This can’t be.” Itwas difficult to believe a brother of the sensual man who stood before her, a twin brother at that, could hold such different tastes. All the same, it was the truth. “Aye, sir. That’s why Tomas married me. ‘Tis why my family lived in such a nice home whilst the rest of the villagers had so much less. My father made a deal to keep their…indiscretion quiet. If, and only if, he took my hand in marriage, as well as lining my father’s pockets with a good deal of coin, would the matter be forgotten.” The Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and she could tell he fought revulsion. She’d felt the same way toward her brother at first. She’d learned to accept his sexuality, as would Tavish in time. She stood, wanting to be free of the small room and the man she shared it with before they broached subjects beyond their family. Matters she could not recount with him for fear she’d ask to relive them in more than words. “I am truly sorry you had to find out this way, my laird. Now may I be dismissed?” “Yes.” She was almost to the door when his deep baritone reached her. “Kristiana.” She turned back slowly, her heart in her throat, as she met his heavy gaze. “Aye?” For a long moment, he stared at her, his expression unreadable, then he said with a wave of his hand, “This shall remain between us.” Grasping for his meaning, she gulped back the lump that had formed in her throat. Her voice was laden with an unsolicited husk when she spoke. “This, sir?” His lips tipped up at the corners and finally his expression became readable. Readable and hungry in a way that seared her to the bone. “My brother’s appetite, of course. I’ve no mind for the villagers to lose their faith now.”

Chapter Five

Kristiana sat in the drawing room, doing her best to concentrate on the intricate needlework splayed on her lap. Her mother used to sew for hours on end, for enjoyment. It was becoming ever clearer she had not inherited her mother’s patience any more than she had her talent. And Mary wasn’t helping matters. Sitting in a high-backed chair on the opposite side of the hearth, the woman had made so little progress on her mending she might as well not have gone to the trouble of pulling it out. Dropping the shirt she was mending into her lap, Mary shifted in her chair and cast a sideways glance at Kristiana. This was the fifteenth such glance since they sat down and the one to finally push Kristiana over the edge.


She dropped her needlework to her lap and shook her head at her friend. “Whatever ‘tis, have out with it.” Mary looked away, but Kristiana could see the heat flaring in her typically pale cheeks. What could be wrong? They had been friends for years. They had no secrets. Actually, they used to have no secrets. She had not told Mary about her encounters with Tavish, just as she hadn’t told the other woman the truth about Tomas. “’Tis nothin’, Kristi,” Mary finally responded. Kristiana set her chin and prepared to be stubborn. If a little over-lording was necessary to get to the bottom of her friend’s behavior, than she would do it. “’Tis something. I know you well. Too well to know when you’ve something on your mind.” “’Tis just…” She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, struggling for patience that had long since eluded her. “Aye?” Mary looked at her, to the fire, then back at her. “I don’t want ye to do it!” she blurted, color streaming higher in her cheeks. “’Tisn’t right. The thin strands of patience Kristiana still possessed slipped away and she demanded, “Do what? What ‘tis it you do not wish for me to do? Out with it now, Mary. How bad can it be?” Her friend’s wide-eyed look spoke volumes. Whatever it was, it must be dreadful. Mary’s words came out just above a whisper. “There’s talk in the village that Laird MacBain will journey to Inverness on the New Year.” The hair rose at the back of Kristiana’s neck and her belly knotted with tension. “What? Who speaks this nonsense? Tavish…Laird MacBain has said no such thing to me.” And why should he? They meant nothing to each other. She was no longer even mistress material in his eyes. “If he wishes to go, so be it. This clan lasted for months without a laird, they will do fine without him for a week or two.” “’Tis believed he won’t come back.” The tightness that claimed her belly clamped harder. She rubbed a hand over her stomach, willing the sensation away. If he planned to leave them, good. She would be far better off without him and the toe-curling effect he had on her body. As for his people…they relied on him. Had given their faith to him less than a sennight ago. For them alone she hoped this rumor of his leaving was just that—hearsay. “’Tis nothing but gossip, I’m sure,” she assured her friend. Mary shook her head vigorously. “Nay. My father heard the laird say he would be leavin’.” She looked at her lap, but instead of returning to her mending she wrung her hands together as if she were nervous. Or perhaps keeping a secret. The tension in Kristiana’s stomach fanned outward, slowly taking over her limbs. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking words out of her mouth.


As calmly as she could manage, she asked, “What are you hiding from me, Mary?” “’Tis just…” Every ounce of calm snapped. “God’s teeth, woman, cease speaking like a stuttering fool and spit it out!” Mary’s eyes flew wide and she blurted, “They want ye to make him stay.” Had her friend gone daft? “I have no power over Laird MacBain.” “My father and the others, they want ye to…to…” “To?” “Seduce him.” The tension that had been mounting for several long minutes caught Kristiana around the throat, trapping her breath completely. She coughed at the cruel ache and slapped a hand at her chest until gasping was once again bearable. “What?” Mary bit her lip. “I told ye I don’t want ye to do it. ‘Tis too noble a sacrifice.” Noble? She thought sleeping with Tavish was noble? That was just…just…just unbelievable. Clearly the womanhad gone daft, along with the rest of the villagers. “His lairdship cares naught for me. My going to him would accomplish nothing.” Naught but more angry words and him once again throwing her out of his chamber. Nay, as much as having sex with the man was the only thing on her mind as of late, she would not do so for the sake of another. “Who instigated this folly?” she demanded. Now that Mary had voiced the reasons for her odd behavior she no longer seemed anxious. On the contrary, she almost seemed joyful. “’Tisn’t just one person,” she explained too cheerfully for Kristiana’s liking, “many speak o’ the way he looks at ye. They say he lusts after ye. When he was workin’ with my father the other day, my mother brought them a cool drink and he responded by saying ‘Thank ye, Kristiana’. ‘Tis not my mother’s name.” “Aye, I’m well aware of your mother’s name, but one mishap doesn’t prove anything.” It merely planted a seed of something she didn’t care to recognize as hope. “It’s happened before. My father says his lairdship spends half the day starin’ up at the Castle. He says he’s thinkin’ o’ ye and how to win yer heart.” Nay. This couldn’t be possible. Tavish didn’t wish to win her heart, he didn’t even like her. But what of his behavior in his study the day before? For a moment she’d thought he might grin, and then he’d looked at her with his eyes so dark and intense. The same way he had looked at her that afternoon in the wood outside Landon, right before he grabbed her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Senseless enough to have her begging him for release. She shuddered at the memory of his palm grinding against the valley of her damp, parted nether lips, his fingers grasping her buttocks and spreading the cheeks wide, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her swollen, tender nub again and again, until she couldn’t stop the pressure


building within from exploding. “Sweet Lord,” she sighed on a moan, as moisture gushed in her undergarments. She squirmed in her chair and shook away the image forming in her mind. She could not dissolve the heat burning in her lower belly so easily. She focused back on her friend. “’Tis not possible. We rarely even speak.” With a shrug, Mary picked up her mending, finally pulling the needle through the shirt with an even hand. “I’m only repeatin’ what I’ve heard.” The want boiling in Kristiana’s blood turned to ire. What she’d heard, or what she’d been told by others in the hopes she might relay it to their lady? She glared at her. “If your father wished to ask me to service the laird, why did he not come here himself?” “As I said, ‘twas not my father’s desire, but the entire village.” She sank back in her chair and huffed, her anger slipping away with the admission of the villagers’ imbecilic notions. “Everyone believes this nonsense? That by seducing Tavish…his lairdship, he won’t leave?” Mary set her mending down once more and met Kristiana’s gaze. “Aye. They say he is leavin’ because ye will not return his affection. They say he has a wounded heart.” Affection? A wounded heart? When did the people of Landon become so fanciful? It didn’t matter when. All that mattered was they were wrong. Tavish held no affection for her. He had merely lust. Did he not? “’Tis fine, Kristi, they’ll understand. Was too much to ask of ye. ‘Twas far too noble a request.” Kristiana growled deep in her throat. The only thing keeping the sound within was the desolation in her friend’s voice. Torn between pointing out that sleeping with a man who was not one’s husband was not noble but immoral and feeling guilt over her friend’s sorrow, she fell to the latter. If Mary felt such distress over Tavish’s leaving, how would everyone else feel? How will you feel? The question came out of nowhere and she fought back the grimace that came with her answer. She would feel lonely. Running from him those times she felt things had become too heated to handle, and ignoring him the rest of the time had become part of her routine. Damnation, the man had become part of her life! An Englishman, who was revolted by her so much he would turn away in disgust rather than take her innocence, had worked his way into her heart. Nay, that wasn’t right. She didn’t love him. Did she care for him? Aye, she did. Whether she wanted to or not. She cared for him a good deal. More than enough to know she wouldn’t escape this hunger that consumed her day and night until he brought it to an end. Until he made her his.


“I’ll do it.” The words were spoken so quietly that Kristiana would never have even known she’d voiced them were it not for Mary’s engorged eyes. “Nay. Ye cannot do it, Kristi. ‘Twould be different if ye cared for him, but ‘tis obvious ye do not.” She heard the hope in her friend’s voice and knew now was not the time to lie. “I care some. Enough. Besides ‘tis something that must be done.” “P’r’haps he won’t go. P’r’haps, ‘tis truly all gossip.” Perhaps. And perhaps if she thought about it any longer she’d realize what an impossible and foolish task she’d put before herself. She knew nothing of seduction, least of all with a man who didn’t want her. Still, for her people she had to try. And that was poppycock. It was for herself she had to try. She needed to coax at least one more powerful kiss from his masterful mouth before she bid him farewell. “’Tis settled,” she said before she could change her mind. “I’ll start tonight.” A healthy shade of pink crept into Mary’s cheeks. Color Kristiana recognized as optimism. “Are ye certain, Kristi? Do ye even know how to seduce a man?” “Aye, I am certain. And I can seduce a man.” She forced bravado into her tone and met her friend’s gaze squarely. “It worked on Tomas, did it not?” Mary’s lips drew thin and the color left her cheeks, but she said no more, merely returned to the silence of her sewing.

***** “What is that smell?” Kristiana’s heart beat faster at the sound of Tavish’s deep baritone. Once she had managed to convince Tavish’s duo of prim-faced cooks to leave the kitchen in her possession, she lit an incense stick flavored with myrrh in the hopes of drawing their laird inside. Her mother had always claimed she’d captured her father with her cooking. Kristiana prayed the same would hold true for herself. Only she did not wish to capture Tavish, merely entice him enough to make him want her as his mistress. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned. Her breath caught as she gazed upon the man she would soon woo to her bed. He had spent the morning and early afternoon toiling in Landon. The way his white linen shirt clung to his broad chest, delineating each muscle to perfection indicated he had worked up a sweat. The ends of his black hair curled where they met the shirt’s collar and a fine growth of beard shadowed his strong jaw. And his hands… Her gaze darted to his strong, long-fingered hands. Kristiana shivered with the realization that she would soon feel them upon her, inside her, making her writhe and ache for release. She remembered just how incredible it felt when he penetrated her lips to stroke over her swollen sex, and knew how badly she wanted that moment.


“What is that smell?” he repeated. She gave her head a firm shake. “Which one, my laird?” His brow knitted and he frowned. “What are you doing?” “Cooking.” “I can see that, why?” “I enjoy cooking. Which smell, sir?” She prayed her long-time specialty of chocolate dipped pirouette cookies had touched something deep inside him. He waved a hand at the room in general. “The earthy one, it smells like…” Her hope sank. “You don’t like it?” “No. I do. It’s…stimulating.” Stimulating?That had not been her intention with the scent, merely to draw him into the kitchen to investigate. Still, she was not one to miss an opportunity. Pasting on what she hoped to be a seductive smile, she started toward him, attempting to sway her hips without looking absurd, and purred out, “It stimulates me as well, my laird.” A scowl claimed Tavish’s face in a flash. She refused to let his dark grimace affect her. She had to be the strumpet he wanted, the carefree one that came apart each time she was in his arms. Her people counted on her. More, her body demanded his touch. Capturing her lip between her teeth to ward off her nervousness, she hurried the rest of the way to his side. She reached him and the mixed aroma of sweat and rich soap invigorated her senses. She tipped her head back to gaze upon his full mouth, and her body hummed with anticipation. Lifting her gaze to his, she laid her palms flat against the muscular plane of his chest and batted her lashes. “I want you, Tavish.” His lips firmed into a flat line, and for a long moment silence reigned. Then he laughed. A deep, delicious sound that warmed her heart and womb in turn. Kristiana didn’t know whether to be angry with his laughter or thrilled by it, so she stood still waiting for his response. Silently she prayed it wouldn’t be words he answered her with, but a fiercely probing tongue and equally inquisitive hands. Strong, skilled hands she burned to feel roaming the length of her spine, dancing over every inch of her hot, naked flesh, burrowing deeply into her arousal-slicked core. Tavish’s laughter died away. She held her breath when he lifted her hands from his chest and raised them to his mouth. With the softest brush of his lips over the back of each, he set her free and nodded. “My lady.” He went to the low counter and grabbed a cookie, then swiveled on his heel and walked past her to the kitchen entryway. He turned back when he reached the door and flashed his crooked grin. The one that made her legs go wobbly and her thighs grow ever damper with the dew of arousal. Then without another word, he left, munching on her cookie as if he hadn’t a single care in the world.


***** Damn these dreams! Had someone told him the day would come he’d actually ask to dream about his brother’s death, he would have thought that man an addled fool. But even those gruesome dreams were better than the torrid fantasies that haunted him now. Those of Kristiana swishing her way across the kitchen, her rounded hips and pelvis gyrating suggestively with every step and her full lower lip sucked between her teeth only to be released to purr about stimulation. In his dreams she didn’t stop at placing her hands to his chest. She went down on her knees before him and wrapped her insolent mouth around his aching shaft. And then she pumped him. With her sweet lips wrapped around his cock and her slender hands fondling his tightly drawn balls, she fucked him until he spilled hot come into her mouth. “Tavish¼“ Dear God, the fantasies were becoming too real. That husky voice sounded so true, so— “Tavish, look at me.” The throaty purr was too close, too authentic to think it a dream. Kristiana was here, in his bedchamber. She called to him again, and he sat up in the large bed to gaze in the direction of her voice. The window. She sat perched on the windowsill. Framed by the moonlight, her wild red hair drifted enchantingly around her delicate face. She wore a gown so filmy and sparse of coverage, her high, firm breasts all but escaped its confines and her dusky pink areolas showed through the material clear as day. He lowered his gaze to where the nightdress covered her tight cunt, and his cock throbbed violently at the dark, triangular patch of pubic hair visible there. Bloody hell, if she had shown up naked, his shaft wouldn’t be so unbearably hard as it was now, gazing upon her barely clothed, perfectly endowed figure. “What are you doing here?” he growled. Her lips curved into a saucy smile, the same one she wore in his dream just before she took his engorged penis into her mouth. She pushed away from the window and started for him. “Stimulating you, my laird.” And it was working better than she could even know. Not that he needed stimulation to want her. She’d had his cock rock-solid since their encounter in the kitchen. Hell, she’d had him aroused since they shared that first kiss in the courtyard. Painfully so, since the moment she climaxed in his hand and he had tasted her come. Summoning his strength of will, he lied, “I told you, I don’t want you here.” She was at his side in a blink, lowering herself to the bed. Now that she had moved away from the moonlight, he could barely make out her shape. He didn’t have to see her to know what she wanted. Taking advantage of the fact he had once again kicked the bedcovers onto the floor, she aligned her body with his, pressed her hands to his naked chest and pushed him back onto the mattress. He complied out of shock more than anything else.


His heart sped at her boldness, at the promise he had seen in her eyes just before she’d left the moonlight. What in the hell had come over her? He thought she had been toying with him in the kitchen. That she would refuse him the moment he agreed with her, in order to get back at him for doing the same. Her unabashed handling of his body didn’t feel like she intended to pull away. The erratic beat of her heart against his spoke only of want. Of the same lust that ruled him day and night. Dragging her heavy breasts against his chest so that his fingers itched to deliver them from their thin confines, Kristiana teased a kiss at the corner of his mouth. She rose up, scraping her nails over his torso as she went, and straddled him with her bare thighs. His entire body shivered with her light touch, with the sensation of her pussy intimately cradling his cock. She was already wet for him—her dampness seeped through his breeches and nearly pushed him past the limits of judgment. Though it was an obvious lie, he bit out, “I don’t want you.” Laughter, teasing and erotic, drifted from her lips. She slid her hand down his abdomen and scooted lower on his body. The feel of her wet cunt grinding against his hardened sex was almost too much to bear. He held his breath when her fingers feathered over the taut, hair-covered flesh at the limits of his breeches. They dipped beneath the edge of the material, the nails grating over his sensitive skin, and he could not hold back his moan any more than his curse. “You’re a bad liar, Tavish,” Kristiana goaded. “Shall we see what you’re good at?” The words were mocking, his own turned back on him, and damned powerful. She moved lower still and her fingers went to work on loosening his breeches. She had pressed her mouth to his navel and begun to lick when the stimulating smell drifted to his nose. “That smell,” he uttered. “It’s the one from the kitchen.” “Aye. I thought you might like it.” He did. Almost as much as he liked her own natural scent. Almost. This was insane. He couldn’t allow her to continue with her ministrations, couldn’t permit her to do whatever it was she thought to do with his body. She deserved so much more than what he had to offer. Satisfaction, yes, that he could give her. Passion, even that he would allow. But anything beyond that, notions of love and adoration, he had left behind years ago. Women were not to be trusted, just as most men were not, for no matter how they might pretend they wanted you for you, because they cared for you more than life itself, it was always some grander prize they sought in the long run. Clinging to that knowledge, he asked again, “What are you doing here, Kristiana?” Her fingers resumed their task of loosening his breeches, and she responded with a throaty purr. “Giving you an early Christmas gift.” The earthy scent filtered to his nose once more and finally he was able to put a name to it. Myrrh. “You think to give me a gift of myrrh?” he asked sardonically. “Nay, my laird. I think to give you a gift of pleasure.” “Damn it, woman, I said I wasn’t interest—” His words died on a harsh grunt as her hand dipped into the opening of his breeches and cupped his


bulging cock. She grasped the head of his shaft and ran her thumb over the moisture he felt building there. His penis pulsed beneath her touch, his balls drawing higher. The reckless urge to roll her over, thrust deep into her tight, wet pussy, and fuck her until his hunger for her was gone forever, claimed him head to toe. “Aye, my laird, ’tis clear you don’t want me.” Tavish shut his eyes and thought of the cruel harshness of war in a useless attempt to block out her actions, her insolent words. But not even the memory of the time he spent on the battlefield could bring an end to the lust coursing through his veins. No woman had ever affected him this way, overruling his sanity, his judgment. Not even that woman he had professed to love several years before only to have his adoration tossed back into his face. These feelings were simply not safe. He opened his eyes and snapped, “Leave me. I’m weary.” “So weary you’d take no pleasure from my mouth on your cock? From the feel of my lips suckling your penis deep into my mouth whilst my hands fondle your balls?” He gasped at her brazenness. He, the supposed rake, actually gasped over a virgin’s suggestion. He caught her wrists in his hands as she began the torturously slow descent toward his erect shaft. “Don’t do this.” “Aye. Do.” Her hands remained immobile, but her mouth continued its descent, until the scintillating heat of her breath rolled along the ridges of his erection, making him throb with the need to feel her sweet lips wrapped around his aching manhood. She licked the tip of his penis, and he growled with the sinuous swipe of her rough tongue over his cock, the feel of her long, silky hair teasing and tickling with each of her moves. She laughed huskily, in a way that fueled his blood past the boiling point. “You taste so very good. Salty yet sweet. I would like to suck your cock until your seed spills into my mouth, and then I would like to feel it embedded into the depths of my body. I would like for you to make me scream. Would you like that as well, my laird?” “Kristiana,” he warned. “Nay, Kristi. ‘Tis what my friends call me and we’re about to become friends. First, we must be rid of these clothes.” She pried at his breeches, and though the last thing he should have done was to help her, he freed her wrists and lifted his hips. He could almost see her triumphant smile in the dark. His own lips drew into a flat line as he called himself a thousand kinds of idiot. “You do want me?” She sounded surprised, as if she thought it had been easy for him to refute her time and again. She had no idea. Just as she had no idea how much his yielding to her would mean. He would not make her his mistress, for she deserved far more. While he had no use for a wife, he did want an heir and, more, he did want her. He would do right by her. As soon as time allowed, they would be wed—even if their union meant exposing the truth about Tomas. Until then they would give into the passion spurring them on


and indulge in each other’s bodies. Kristiana dropped her mouth to his groin and suckled at the head of his shaft. The skin of his cock tightened and near painful pressure built throughout his body. As much as the idea of her fucking him with her mouth pleased him, he wouldn’t allow it this first time. This first time would be for her, to ease her into the pleasures of the flesh. “Stop,” he ordered. “Nay, you do want me, my laird. Admit it!” “Oh, I want you, Kristi. The need to fuck you has driven me all but mad these past days. But if we do this, we will do it right. And call me Tavish. It’s what my friends call me and we’re about to become the very closest of friends.” He heard her gasp as he caught her in his arms and rolled her onto her back, then there was no sound at all as he smothered her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Chapter Six

He’d lied. Tavish had to have lied when he said he couldn’t drug a maiden with his kisses, for surely Kristiana was drunk from the power of his mouth against hers. His hungry tongue thrust back and forth, in and out, robbing her of the ability to think, talk and breathe with its powerful stroke. And his hands… Oh, the man knew how to use them. He pulled away from her lips to trail wet, hot kisses along her jaw and down her neck. His tongue laved at her pulse point and she shivered at the lust pouring through her. Silently, she willed him to move farther down, to suckle at her nipples the way he had that night on the parapet. It was the cold that had first peaked her nipples that night. Tonight it was anticipation, excitement for the sensations claiming her mind, body, and soul, and, more, for those fantasies yet to be realized. He slipped his hands beneath her short silk and lace nightdress and the breath snagged in her throat. Once he was past the barrier of her thin gown, she’d expected him to go right for her mound, fondle her sex until wetness lathered her lips and soaked his fingers. Instead, his cool, callused palms slid up the length of her body, igniting a fire of need wherever he touched. He reached her breasts and cupped the fullness of one. His thumb flicked over her aroused nipple and she bucked up against him and licked the air in search of a fulfillment she had only before dared to imagine. Tavish plumped her breast in his hand, feeding as much as he could take into his mouth. His licks turned to sucks then to a fierce tugging that shot white hot desire straight from her throbbing nipple to her heated


core. His free hand journeyed downward to stroke over her belly with a languidness surely meant to drive a lady mad with want. That skilled hand drifted farther yet, stroking the curly down at the entrance to her soaking sex and Kristiana’s hips instinctively lurched upward in search of the tender assault his roaming fingers would provide. Only that invasion never came, and a restless whimper broke from her lips. Pulling from her breast, he chuckled softly then brushed the softest of kisses over her parted lips. “Patience, Kristi. We are to do this right.” Nay. She didn’t wish to be patient. She wished to end this mindless hunger, to feel the length of his strong, thick shaft imbedded inside her virgin flesh. To finally be his, if only when the sun was set and no one was the wiser. Her heart twisted with the thought. She forced away the ache to concentrate on the man laying siege to her body. The man she’d come to care for whether she wanted to or not. She had chosen to take this path, to be his mistress. She had no right to ask for more. To want more— this would have to remain behind closed doors. Her thoughts left her when Tavish’s strong hands chased back down her body. With a flash of silk against the moonlight, he ran his palms up once more, raising her gown to reveal every inch of the naked skin beneath. He eased her forward to remove the nightdress, then set her back against the bed pillows and gazed down upon her. Though she knew his vision was limited at best, Kristiana couldn’t hold back her blush. She worried her lower lip as his silent perusal continued. He’d seen her breasts before and spoke of their beauty, but never had he looked upon her so fully, not even in the near darkness. No man had. What if she weren’t all he had imagined? What if he turned her away? She could take him wanting her for nothing more than a strumpet to dally with when the mood suited, but she couldn’t take his rejection. Not again. Speak, she silently urged.Or move. Anything but continuing to gaze upon her, his night-veiled eyes searing her flesh, liquefying her limbs with twin forces of expectancy and dread. Finally, his hand returned to her breast, lightly stroking her nipple and sending pleasure coiling deep in her belly. “I have imagined you this way many times, darling. You’re far more ravishing than even my mind could conjure.” A breath she hadn’t realized she held whooshed from her lungs. Though his words comforted her on many levels, they also caused her blush to burn higher. “’Tis dark, sir. Surely, your eyes play tricks on you.” “Tavish,” he corrected. “And it’s not dark enough to hide your beauty.” Nor dark enough to hide his crooked grin. His voice was edged with a rough husk that spoke of passion, not humor, and still she could detect his errant smile. Her own mouth curved upward until her thoughts caught up with her. Was he truly joyous over their coupling? And if so, what did that say of his affections? Was it possible he cared for her as Mary claimed? Kristiana’s heart beat faster with the possibilities, prospects she knew better than to consider, to want.


But she did want. She wanted him for her own, and more than just in flesh. She wanted him in name. For a lifetime. “Part your thighs, Kristi. I wish to drink in your sweetness.” Forcing away the blush that again threatened, she did as he asked, spreading her legs wide for fear did she not consent he would again peg her an awkward virgin and order her be gone from his chamber. Then she would have nothing. Not even his nights. Tavish’s thumb worked a slow path from her breast along the softness of her belly to her parted thighs. He feathered his fingers through her downy curls as he had moments before, but this time he didn’t stop when she arched into his touch. This time he rimmed her swollen mound, stroking the opening of her feminine lips until her sex grew unbearably heated and her juices dampened her inner thighs. “Nice. So very nice,” he spoke on a rasp. This was nice, but she wanted more. And she wanted it now. “Please, Tavish…” With nary a word, he drove a single finger midway into her core. Her breath caught with the rapid entry, then turned to a low moan as he stroked back and forth against her cleft. She writhed against his touch, whimpering her need when the pad of his finger scrapped over the distended nub and sent tremulous waves through her body. “You’re ripe, darling. Ripe and mine. For when this night is through, you’ll know no other man. Are we agreed?” Words came hard as he continued to pet her nub, his ceaseless fondling bringing her ever closer to the edge of the unknown. Kristiana forced her mind to clear, words to form. Through parched lips, she squeaked out, “Aye, my laird. I am yours. Always.” “Always,” he repeated, and then he thrust his finger deeply into her. She struggled not to clamp her knees shut against the bittersweet pressure all but drowning her with his entry. As if he knew her mind, he laughed. “Your legs will go nowhere, Kristi. I’ll see to that.” She had little time to wonder over his proclamation before he pulled his finger from her body and grabbed hold of her knees, steadying them in place. Then his wide, naked shoulders were pushing against her thighs, splaying them wider, ever wider until she felt near to the snapping point. But she wouldn’t snap, she knew that fact even before his tongue came down on her sex and sliced through the part at her center. She wouldn’t snap, but Holy Mother she might explode! Grasping tightly to Tavish’s thick hair, Kristiana dug her heels against the mattress and screamed her ecstasy. His tongue licked at her swollen flesh again and again, piercing and thrusting into her tight, hot core, until the juices of arousal rolled down the cheeks of her ass in plentiful streams. She bucked against his mouth, shouting loud enough to wake the entire Castle when his teeth found her bud. The edges of his sharp incisors caught hold of her nub and he tugged fiercely. The pressure that had been building since he first touched her turned into an inferno of uncontrollable lust. She couldn’t stop her trembling, couldn’t stop her grip on his hair from becoming ever harder, nor could she stop her scream as


the orgasm rippled through her body with mind-numbing delight. “Oh…Tavish!” She lurched against his seeking tongue, clinging to him for dear life as her pelvis ground against his face. She was acting so very far from the lady, but she didn’t care. She cared naught for a thing but the man who ate at her with such skill. And, oh, how she cared for him. Much more than was safe, for her head or her heart. The tremors subsided and Tavish released her knees and lowered himself over her body. Curling his fingers through her chaotic hair, he brushed a gentle kiss over her mouth. Wishing him to be anything but gentle, she caught his face in her hands and thrust her tongue out, licking ravenously at his mouth. His tongue met her halfway, dueling in a silent feast, pillaging her of her slowly returning senses while sharing the salty, sweet juices that warmed his tongue. Her own juices. As if that knowledge spoke to a primal part of her, the part that could wait no longer, Kristiana gripped his shoulders and pulled him more tightly to her. The staccato beat of his heart leapt in time with her own, and she fixed on his gaze through the darkness. “I want you, Tavish. I want to feel you inside me.” “And I want you, I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. But…” She forced herself to move past the sensations he built inside, to concentrate on the man and whatever it was that plagued him. “Aye? But what? ‘Tis meant to be.” “This is what you truly want? Me?” “Aye.” She wanted him for now and ever. If asked a sennight ago she would have thought it impossible to love the devil Englishman. But now she knew better. Now she knew he was no more English than she. Certainly not where his loyalties and heart lay. And he was no devil, no scoundrel. Had he been a scoundrel he would have taken her that afternoon on the snow, or again that night in his chamber. He’d turned her away for her own good, she knew that now, and loved him all the more for it. Aye, she loved him. And she couldn’t admit it if she had any chance of becoming and remaining his mistress. Not unless what the villagers said was true, and he returned her affections. Kristiana drew a courage fortifying breath and asked the question that had burned at her for many long hours. “Do you like me, Tavish?” He chuckled heartily as he pressed the weight he had held back against her center. His strong, thick shaft stroked her cleft and sent her internal fire burning anew. “I told you I want you. Can you not feel for yourself?” “Aye, I can feel. I meant care for me? Do you care for me?” He hesitated for a long moment, a moment where she held her breath for fear he would deny her, and then said, “You‘re family. How could I not?” Her guts curled with the accusation. It was far worse than saying he didn’t care at all. “Family?” she gasped, her voice rising an octave with each word. “We’re not family. We’re…” All amusement was gone, when he prompted, “What? What are we, Kristi?”


“We’re lovers. Make me yours, Tavish. Please.” “Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked once more. She sighed out her answer. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” And then her lips were fierce upon his, asking, taking. Demanding. Tavish had never tasted such wild abandon. He knew she gave him everything in that kiss, and he couldn’t stop himself from replying in turn. He wanted to be buried to the hilt, deep in her slippery cunt at this very moment. To grind his cock against her swollen pussy and show her all the things she’d gone so long without. He knew he needed to take things slowly this first time. For her. She deserved it. Petting her ass, he lowered his mouth to her firm, high breasts and caught an erect nipple in his lips. The flavor that had cloaked his senses the entire day exploded against his tongue yet again. The prose left his mouth before he could stop it. “A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts…” His fingers buried into her slick vulva as the words continued to pour out from a place he thought to have died long ago. He might have worried over the reopening of that particular spot—his deeply buried heart—were it not for the moisture that seeped from her body. “I thought you cared naught for my pretty words, Kristi. I can feel the effect they have on you. They make you so very wet.” She bucked against his hand, burying his questing fingers until they rubbed against her maidenhead. “Aye, sir. You make me wet. You make me unbearably hot. Please, Tavish, take me now. Make me yours.” She had begged him for the same two nights prior and that night he’d done the honorable thing and turned her away. Tonight he couldn’t honor her, but he would soon. Very soon, if she wished it so. Of course, Kristiana would want to be his bride. Though he had managed to convince himself such a thing was not possible, that a woman could not love without reason, without a grander goal in mind, she had made him believe to the contrary. She cared for him, of that he was certain. Did she love him? Yes or no, it was of no consequence, and still he could not stop from asking. “Do you care for me, Kristi?” She stilled and stared at him through the darkness. “What?” “You asked me if I cared for you, now I must know the same. Do you care for me?” Several long seconds passed, seconds that seemed a lifetime to Tavish and his only company was the hammering of his heart. Finally, she reached up and caressed his cheek. “Aye, my laird, I care. And not as a brother.” That place that had reopened moments before—that place he cared not to acknowledge as his heart—warmed with her response. Despite his vow to never again fall to the trappings of something as folly as emotion, he smiled and stroked her cheek in return. “I care for you too. But not as a strumpet.” Kristiana’s hand ceased and she drew a loud breath. “Tavish, I care more than you know. I…I…” He silenced her with his mouth before she could utter another word, the word he feared hearing more than any other. He would make her his wife, and he would care for her, but he wasn’t prepared for more


than that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Breaking the kiss, he rolled from her to divest himself of his breeches. He returned to her then, stroking his fingers against her still damp pussy until a new gathering of moisture grew dense against her nether lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched against his touch. “Now, Tavish. We wait no more.” No matter what they might disagree on later, with this he was in complete agreement. He’d waited too long to feel her long legs wrapped around his waist, her silky cunt parted around his shaft as he drove her to fulfillment. His cock throbbed even as he thought it, and he rose up to kiss her as he centered himself between her legs. Sucking on her full lower lip, he edged the head of his penis into her opening and was rewarded with her muscles contracting around him, striving to pull him in. “There will be pain,” he uttered, lifting her hips slightly. She shook her head and lifted her hips higher, to a point that would prove gratifying soon, but for now would cause her unnecessary anguish. “Nay, only pleasure. Don’t stop.” “We must go slowly,” he bit out as she gyrated against him, her drenched lips sliding back and forth over his throbbing tip, and bringing a growl deep into his throat. “Fast.” “Kristiana, be reasonable,” he all but begged. “On the morrow. On the morrow I will be reasonable. Tonight, I wish not to think.” She caught him off guard, swiftly kicking the mattress, and rolled them until he lay beneath her on the bed, and then she did something he never saw coming. She impaled herself on him. A muted gasp tore from her lips even as a cry of pleasure ripped from his. He reached for her, pulling her tight against his body, but she reared back and placed her hands upon his chest. “The pain is gone, my laird. Now I feel only pleasure.” There was no denying the lust deep in her throaty tone. Nor the wetness that seeped around his cock. And when she raised her hips, lifting herself up his rigid length then bringing herself soundly down, there was no denying his inability to go slow. He needed to go fast every bit as much as she did. Reaching between them he cupped her buttocks in his palms and lifted her into the pace she had already set. The tight muscles of her cunt contracted around him with each thrust of his shaft, her fingernails pinched into his flesh. Their breathing rent the silence of the night as the scent of their sex stole through the air. With every smack of his balls against her ass he drew closer to the brink, to a place he once believed he’d been many times before but now he wasn’t so sure. The need that churned through him was more than he’d ever felt, it was mystical and frightening and undeniable. Kristiana’s cry of ecstasy shook him from his reverie. “Oh my…I…I’m going to…explode.” Holding tight to the reins of his control, he quickened his thrusts into her slick, tight pussy, pressing hard against her clitoris until her limbs trembled and her fingernails dug near painfully into the muscles of his chest. What he felt for her didn’t matter now. Nothing did but feeling her come apart in his arms.


“That’s it, darling. Come for me, Kristi. Drench me with your juices.” And she did. As her hot come flowed over his cock, soaking his balls and the bed beneath them, his own release shook through him. The force of the orgasm shuddered though his limbs, blinding him in its strength until it was beyond him to guide her any longer. And then she took over for him, milking his shaft with her taut, quivering cunt as she drew up and down his rock solid length. “That’s it, darling. Come for me, Tavish,” she mimicked, her voice a throaty purr that spoke to him like no other. “Drench me with your juices.” And he did. With the force of a charging destrier he spilled his seed into her womb, making her his for eternity. With his cock still buried deeply inside her, she laid her head against his chest, her long hair fanning out in silken waves that tickled and enticed in accord. Her slender fingers curled within his, locking their hands. And, a very foolish part of him added, their hearts. It had to be a foolish part, because as much as he might care for her, he didn’t love her. Couldn’t love her. No matter if his heart lay open or closed, love was not possible. It was an emotion he was simply incapable of feeling. Yet he couldn’t stop from rising to place a kiss on her forehead and whispering, “Good night, my love,” as her soft, even breathing grew shallow with sleep.

***** Kristiana woke with a smile on her face that only grew bigger when she stared upon the man she loved. Sunlight burned through the large windows and, though it was winter outside, it was cozy in this chamber. Cozy and perfect. She could spend her entire day in bed with Tavish and not grow bored. She coasted her gaze down the length of him, taking in his hard, muscular body as she’d been unable to do in the darkness. She’d once compared him to a warrior. She’d been accurate. His face was strong and angular with a day’s growth of black beard shadowing its contours. His torso was rippled with thick muscle and his arms and thighs corded with the same. And his sex was thick, strong…and already awake. With a soft laugh she drew down to take his engorged shaft into her mouth, stilling when his scarred calf came into sight. She lowered on the bed to run her fingers over the uneven and broken skin. “What happened to you, my love?” “One of your bloody Englishmen.” She jerked upright in the bed and swiveled to stare at him. “You’re awake.” The crooked grin claimed his face and while she had always thought his black eyes soulless or at the very least sinful, they seemed to smile at her too. “Did you think I could sleep with you staring upon my cock as though to have it for breakfast?” She smiled back, realizing he had been awake during her inspection of his body. How much longer had he been awake? Had he looked upon her with such abandon? Heat swept through her and wetness gathered between her tingling thighs at the idea of him inspecting her so thoroughly.


She rose up to his lips and brushed a soft kiss there. “Had you slept longer I may have done just that.” “Then perhaps I shall.” His eyes fell closed and for an instant she thought how sweet he looked like this, with his long, dark lashes framing his handsome face. Then his manhood prodded into her thigh and she knew better. As much as she wished to feel him inside her again, she longed to know the answer to her question more. “Tell me.” He opened his eyes and drew his arms around her back, pulling her tight against him. His shaft rubbed against her cleft and she bit back her moan. “Tell you what, my lady? How I delight in sliding my cock into the pretty pink folds of your pussy?” After last night and her own bold usage of bawdy terms, she was certain she was past blushing over his words, and still she couldn’t fight the sting that claimed her cheeks. “Nay, not that. About this Englishman of yours.” He stilled and his lips fell flat. “It’s not a pretty story. Certainly not near so pretty as the other I wished to tell.” “I wish to hear it all the same,” she pressed. “And if you tell it well enough, I’ll allow you to tell your other story next.” His grin returned with her words, but failed to reach his eyes. “It’s about Tomas.” Her heart squeezed with grief, hearing the sorrow in his words. While he’d not had the opportunity to know his brother well, it was clear he’d cared for the man. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.” Tavish’s gaze narrowed. “My loss? He was your husband, Kristi. You never felt anything for him? Not even a little?” She wasn’t sure how to answer his question. Did he wish to think she had cared for him? Regardless of what he wanted to hear, she wouldn’t lie. She never lied. At least she tried not to. “Aye. I cared for him…as a brother.” The smile returned to his eyes, and Kristiana’s heart exploded with the truth of his feelings. He loved her too. He truly felt those affections Mary spoke of. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then drawing a long breath, blurted, “I can’t wait any longer. I will quite simply burst if I don’t say it. I lo—” “Tomas was part of the group to flee with Prince Charles,” he cut her off in a rush. “I spotted them leaving by accident. No sooner had I seen them then a redcoat took after the pack. Tomas was in the rear.” He took a deep breath and stilled to look at her, as if she might want to continue what she had begun. She did want to, but now she wanted to hear his story more. They had an entire lifetime to share their love. She would speak the words soon enough. “It didn’t matter then what colors we wore,” he continued, “all I saw was my brother, my twin. I took off after him, but by the time I reached him it was too late to do anything more than drag his body into hiding.” His voice cracked and his tone went down a level. Her heart hurt for the pain he must have


suffered that day. To think she’d blamed him for being a faithless Englishman, a devil no less. She’d been so wrong about him, so wrong about many things. “No matter his injuries, I hoped to save him, to spend the time together we’d been deprived of all those years, to know the man he‘d become.” “Was he alive then?” she had to ask, had to know something, anything to help her visualize what happened that day, how he’d felt. “Did you speak with him?” “He said one word, ‘brother’. He might have said more, but just then another soldier appeared. I don’t know how he found us in the brush, but he did and he spared no time in making his presence known. He got off a single shot before I could get his pistol away from him, and then he pulled a dirk.” His voice went grim as he pegged her with a chilly look. “My leg might look unfavorable, but I’m alive. I can’t say so much for your Englishman.” Kristiana shuddered involuntarily and curled closer, needing his heat, his strength in a way she couldn’t explain. “He wasyour Englishman. And I’m glad he’s no longer.” “And I’m glad you’re here.” “You are?” He nodded, his serious countenance slipping away to reveal an errant grin. “Yes. I find I have an obsession for newly-made strumpets in the morning.” She laughed then gasped as his fingers slid from her back to grasp her buttocks. They slid lower, until he pierced her mound from behind and strummed his long fingers against her swelling sex. She’d been sore upon first waking, but now that he stroked her damp inner folds, she knew nothing but ecstasy. Lowering to his mouth, she licked her tongue across the seam of his lips, dipping into their center for just an instant. “I find I have an obsession for you.” “I find I want to tell that other story now.” “I find myself growing wet just waiting.”

***** Tavish whistled the entire ride down the mountain to Landon. It was foolish behavior reserved for smitten lads who knew no better and still he couldn’t stop himself. He could’ve easily spent the day in bed with Kristiana. Only he wouldn’t do her such an injustice. If they were to spend the day abed gossip would start, and he wouldn’t dishonor her so. Soon they would be wed, and then they would spend as many days in their bed as it so pleased them. Presuming she agreed. Of course she would agree, he told himself for the second time in the last twenty four hours. She cared for him deeply, were he to guess what she meant to tell him the night before and again this morning. Once they were wed she could speak those words and perhaps, though he would by no means hold his breath,


there might come a time when he could repeat them and mean it. Reaching the blacksmith’s home, he slid from his mount and started around the small cottage to where John Smith labored. Loud voices reached his ears. Loud, happy voices. He grinned in turn. His grin was for an entirely different reason than whatever the happy crowd spoke of, but they didn’t need to know that. Tavish was about to clear the back of the cottage when the sound of his name stopped him. His name followed by raucous laughter. Never had he been an eavesdropper and yet he couldn’t turn around and leave, nor could he make his presence known. He listened intently, the happiness that filled him lessening with each new word until his heart twisted with icy, cold anger. “Mary says her ladyship is still abed he was so rough with her.” “’E can be ruf with me any time ‘e wants,” a woman said, causing a rise of laughter. Another man spoke up, his voice deadly serious. “We should not laugh at Lady Kristiana’s expense—she did us all a favor. She made a sacrifice more noble than any o’ ye or I can claim, to keep his lairdship on MacBain land. For that we owe her our eternal gratitude. It could not have been easy to give her body so freely to a stranger.” The angry twisting turned to a vise of pain, and whatever force dared him to allow his heart to open died away with a vengeance that shook him to the soul. He balled his fists at his sides to keep from charging into the group and strangling that last man. Or better yet charging up the hill and strangling Kristiana. She said she cared. She all but said she loved him. Bloody hell, he told her he cared for her as well. He meant to ask her to marry him, to making the lying little whore his wife! And all that time she had played him the fool. Shewas the woman he had first thought her, a conniving bitch like all the others—after a greater goal and not his heart at all. A noble sacrifice her people had said, and that it was—a noble sacrifice that at this moment he couldn’t value worth a damn.

Chapter Seven

Christmas Eve and Kristiana could think of no better gift than the love that swelled her heart. Tonight she would share that love with Tavish. Before she spoke her feelings aloud, she would tell him with her body, with her hands and her mouth. Tonight when she went to his bedchamber, she would grant his every fantasy and place no bounds on her boldness. She’d seen how excited he became when she’d spoken in lewd terms. He would become even more aroused when she acted like the strumpet he’d first deemed her, a wanton lover who knew no limits.


Aye, tonight there would be no boundaries between them, and when their coupling was complete, she wouldn’t even need to speak the feelings of her heart, for he would know them too clearly to question. Josalyn, her newly assigned lady’s maid, entered the chamber to help her prepare for bed. With an easy smile, Kristiana stood from the chair before the armoire and waved the young woman away. When the chamber door closed behind the maid, Kristiana went to her wardrobe and retrieved a delicate satin and lace gown. It was much like the gown she had worn last night, only far more revealing. Mary had given her the nightdress as a gift for her wedding with Tomas. She’d not needed the garb with that twin. With his brother however, she could barely wait to put it on. More, she could barely wait to see Tavish’s reaction. Stripping off her daywear, she slipped the fine gown over her head. Cool satin caressed her body as it glided downward. The cloth rubbed against her nipples and they thrust outward with anticipation. Coming to stand before the armoire, she ran her thumb over a distended crown and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her long, red hair spilled wildly around her face and her eyes were deep blue and alive with excitement, but her cheeks were too dull for her liking. Pinching was the common way to bring color into one’s face. Her encounters with Tavish told her of another way, a way that would ensure she was ready and eager for him the moment she stepped into his bedchamber. With a quick glance around the room to ensure she was truly alone, she slid her palm from her breast, past her belly, and rubbed against her mound through her nightdress. Instant wetness seeped through the thin material and she released a whimper of need. Bunching the satin in her hand, she touched her fingers to her damp sex. She’d never done this before, touched herself so intimately and for her own pleasure, but she felt no shame. Only want swirled through her limbs, coiling endless heat in her belly as she flicked her fingers against her slit and moaned out her response. It didn’t feel as incredible as when it was Tavish’s strong fingers, or better his tongue stroking her swollen sex, but it didn’t feel bad either. Lowering to the chair before the armoire, she parted her thighs and stared down at her femininity. Red curls glistened with dewy moisture. She parted the hair to examine the folds of flesh beneath, then parted them as well to look upon the bud that nested there. Amazing, something so simple could bring one such pleasure. The nub was rather small, and yet so bright and quivering for her touch. She rubbed her thumb against it and cried out her surprise as shivers of intense pleasure crashed through her. She petted the tender bud again and the muscles of her inner thighs contracted. She fought against the urge to clamp her legs together and squirm, and continued her idle strokes, increasing her pace as the throbbing sensation grew ever stronger. She needed this awakening, needed to know her body well, was she to best use it to pleasure Tavish. And she enjoyed it. Drawing her feet up onto the chair at either of her sides, she continued to coax the small bud until the pressure became nearly unbearable and her juices lathered her fingers. Then she thrust one finger inside. Instinctively she bucked against the foreign assault and greedily drove another finger into her core. Her nether lips felt tight and wet, her muscles contracted with each and every thrust. The tang of her sex on


the air was all the stimulation she needed. Inhaling the sweet, musky scent, she reclined her head back on the chair, closed her eyes and stroked. Oblivious to her surroundings, oblivious to the outside world, oblivious to everything but the endless pleasure flooding through her body and the chaotic beat of her heart. And that’s exactly how Tavish found her. Sitting there with her legs drawn up and her milky white thighs spread wide. He went hard in an instant, gazing upon her flushed face, her pussy parted and her fingers furiously darting in and out as she whimpered for release. His cock thrust against his breeches and he bit his lip to keep from growling the loathing that seared through him, ending in the vicinity of his heart. He knew the words he’d heard in the village were true now. Had she truly wanted him, been pleased by him, she wouldn’t be seeking gratification at her own hand. She would be in his bed at this very moment, the place he’d nearly been convinced she belonged. He started toward her, stopping dead in his tracks as a low, breathy cry tore from her mouth. She writhed against the chair, her body trembling and unmistakable sucking sounds erupting from her dripping cunt. She was coming. And he couldn’t stop himself from watching. Her cries turned to near sobs as the orgasm rifled through her, soaking her slender hands, her inner thighs and the seat beneath. His cock pushed so hard against his breeches, he had no choice but to release it or allow it to break through the cloth. And why not release it? He once thought to stroke himself before her eyes—he no longer had a reason not to. She might have been a virgin the night before, but she had been far from innocent. She was a liar, a bitch who dared to sell herself for her people. Grunting his vexation, Tavish yanked his pants down and took his thick cock into his hand. He grasped his penis firmly, pretending it was Kristiana’s too pretty neck and then eagerly began to stroke. Blood hammered through his ears and shot to his groin as his shaft tightened and pulsed within his palm. He couldn’t stop himself from growling aloud, “This is for you, darling. For what you wanted all along was to see me fucked.” Kristiana’s eyes flared wide, and the desire that laced them turned to shock. Her feet slammed to the floor and she squeaked out, “Sweet Lord…what are you—” “Pleasing myself, just as you chose to do.” “Nay. I was—” She stopped short at his savage growl and her eyes grew wider, darkened to near midnight. “Please. Let me.” His first instinct was to say no then he changed his mind. Let the wench spend time on her knees if she so wished it. He was before her in two strides. Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her to the floor then caught her by the hair and tugged her toward his engorged cock. “Suck it, Kristi. Swallow my seed.” With an audible gasp, she planted her palms against his thighs as if to push him away. He strengthened his grip on her hair, forcing her to come into contact with the deep-purple head of his erection. “Do it, my lady. Do your job. Prove just how noble you are. Fuck me with your mouth.” He felt her tremble beneath his hands, and for a moment he felt guilt, then her tongue came out and licked at the moisture that beaded on the tip of his shaft and he knew nothing but hunger. She drew him into the heated cavern of her mouth, and he groaned at the feel of her lush lips sliding along the ridges of


his cock. Catching the base of his penis in her palm, she increased the pressure of her suckling. Her free hand went to his balls, cupping and shaping them, and his groans turned to grunts of agony. This was sheer hell, for it couldn’t be heaven. She was no angel, no innocent. She was a woman to fuck one last time then be rid of. “Enough!” Tavish roared, tugging her free of his cock by her hair. Kristiana stared at him through wide eyes, a look that spoke of fear or possibly excitement. He cared naught how she felt—he reminded himself—he cared nothing about her at all. He caught her in his arms in one swift move and then strode to the bed. He tossed her onto her stomach on the mattress. Digging his fingers into her hips, he yanked her backward until her ass cheeks were splayed wide before him, her pussy open and wet with readiness. Not that he cared if she was wet, she could be dry as a bone and he would still take his pleasure this one last time. Shouting a battle cry, he thrust into her tight cunt from behind. He pulled her against his chest and crudely palmed her breasts, twisted and plucked at her nipples, all but oblivious to her helpless mewls as he pumped into her flesh again and again. Her soaked pussy clamped down on him hard, her palms fell flat to the bed and she balled her fists into the bedclothes. She was coming. The little tramp was coming again! Latching onto her neck with a brutal bite, he fucked her faster, harder. He would get her from his mind were it the last thing he did, and the only way to do that was through punishing them both for their stupidity. Only it didn’t feel like punishment when finally the orgasm ripped through him, it didn’t feel like punishment at all when once more her hot, wet cunt contracted around him. It did, however, feel like punishment when she cried out his name in ecstasy. The moment he could breathe without gasping, Tavish pulled from her. She wrenched around on the bed and met his eyes, and the bitch had the nerve to smile! He scowled in return and retraced his steps to the armoire, tugged on his breeches. Kristiana’s smile fell. “Where are you going?” “Away.” Worry clouded her eyes. It was all he could do not to laugh.Yes, my lady , he thought sardonically,it would seem your little game is over . “Why?” she demanded, struggling to her feet. He tried not to look at the high, firm globes of her breasts or the distended, scarlet buds that topped them, tried not to let his gaze drop to the drenched curls at her pussy, but he couldn’t stop himself. His actions angered him all the more. “Because I won’t share a bed with a whore,” he lashed out. Her mouth fell wide and shame colored her cheeks a vivid red. “A whore?” she whispered on a strangled breath. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t bother to stop his chuckle. She was a damned good actress. Perhaps she had a future on the stage. One thing she didn’t have, would never have, was a future with him. He curled his lip in a belittling smile and all but spat, “I know, darling. I know every bloody thing. I know what a conniving little liar you are, I know you never gave a damn about me, and I know you are a slut sent by your villagers to seduce


me.” The color that had claimed her cheeks washed white and she looked as though she might swoon. She gave her head a fierce shake, rushing to his side to grab his arm. “Nay. ‘Tisn’t true! You can’t believe that, Tavish.” He shook her hand away, no longer able to stomach the feel of her touch. “Then what is, Kristiana? What is the truth? Are you so enamored of me you couldn’t stay away? You had to sneak into my chamber and beg me to take your innocence?” Tears trickled from her murky eyes, tears that shot straight to his heart. He forced the uncomfortable sensation to pass. He wouldn’t feel for her, wouldn’t care if she wept until her eyes cracked and bled. He wouldn’t! Sniffing back her tears, she fell to his feet and hugged his legs. “Aye. ‘Tis the truth, my laird. I am enamored with you. I gave myself to you so you wouldn’t desert me. Not the villagers, but me.” Kristiana tipped back her face and looked up at him, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t bear the thought of your leaving, my love.” Yes, she had a promising future on the stage, for her false tears almost made him believe she spoke the truth. Almost. He started to turn from her, to flee to the safety of the door, when she gripped his legs tighter and cried out, “I love you, Tavish. I will always love you.” The words ate at his heart, but not in the way she clearly had hoped they would. Instead, they revived a long ago buried memory, a reflection that churned his gut and brought bile into his throat. Bitterness stole through him and he wrenched free of her arms. He distanced himself from her and narrowed his gaze on her pitiful form. She looked broken and miserable. He could only grin, for that’s exactly how he felt. “You will always love me,” he repeated her word with a sneer. “That’s what my father said right before he sent me to the English. I didn’t believe him either.” “Please…you have to understand. I didn’t do this for—” He turned his back to her, refusing to look upon her deplorable face another moment. “I don’t care why you did it, just like I don’t care to hear about your feeble notions of love. I once made a promise to myself to never take a wife I cared for. I planned to break that promise for you, but no longer. Not now that you reminded me why I made that vow—because women are liars, not to be trusted. They speak words of love, of need, of desire, when all they truly want is a good fuck that leads to an even better reward. You’ve gotten your fuck, now play time’s over,darling .” “Please…” The broken sob that accentuated the word pressed at Tavish’s gut. Forcing the sensation back, he stalked to the door and grabbed the handle. “Goodbye, Kristi.” “You can’t leave! What about the people? The promises you made?” “I already gave them more than they deserve—my faith and my loyalty—and in return they gave me a deceitful bitc—” He stopped short and opened the door, stepped through the entryway and said with all the anger that roiled through him, “Merry Christmas, my lady. I hope you enjoyed your gift.”


And then he was gone.

***** Upon hearing the news of Tomas’ death many months before, Kristiana knew the years ahead would be difficult ones for the MacBain clan. She’d accepted having to live in poverty if such were God’s will, to feed upon scraps of mutton or the thinnest of stews if food were to be found at all. She’d even accepted leaving her home and journeying to the colonies if that’s what it came to. None of those things compared to accepting that the man she loved would soon be gone from her forever. Sniffing back tears that seemed endless, she straightened in her chair and gazed across her bedchamber at Mary. She had called her friend here for a single reason—to say goodbye. She heard from Tompkins that Tavish planned to leave for Inverness by nightfall. She would simply have to leave first. This land was his by birth, by blood, and by honor. Hehad honored his people. Had given them hope when they were down to naught. And she knew in her heart he would continue to do so, if only she wasn’t around to make him doubt his actions and remind him what a fool he’d been. He hadn’t been a fool of course. She had, and because of it she would spend her Christmas day fleeing to the unknown. Spend the rest of her life loving a man who loathed her with every inch of his being. Rising on weary legs, she went to the armoire and grabbed the thin bracelet her mother had given her many years before. She crossed to Mary and tucked the strand of emerald and silver into the other woman’s palm. Her throat constricted as she said, “I want you to have this, to remember me by.” Mary’s eyes flew wide and she shot to her feet. “Kristi, I cannot!” “Aye, you can. You will keep it and you will wear it, and you will think of me.” “Think o’ ye? Why would I need to think o’ ye? What are ye sayin’?” Kristiana pulled in a deep breath, letting it out on a rush. “I’m leaving, Mary. Laird MacBain won’t stay so long as I am here. I won’t let the clan suffer the loss of yet another master for my error.” “Yer error? What have ye done?” “I…” Her voice cracked as Tavish’s words from the previous night rolled through her mind.I once made a promise to myself to never take a wife I cared for. I planned to break that promise for you, but no longer. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids to stop yet another course of tears. “I hurt him. I didn’t try to do so, but I did all the same.” “And ye cannot make it up to him?” “Nay, I don’t think I can. I have tried to make him understand, but he won’t listen. And I…I love him too much to allow him to suffer any longer.” She pulled her hand away and met Mary’s worried gaze. “Your laird is a good man, he will do right by the people of Landon. He will do all the better with me gone.” From his vantage point just past the slightly ajar chamber door, Tavish drew in a hasty breath. Was it possible she spoke the truth? Had her coming to him, offering her body, her innocence not been for her


people at all, not even that first time? Could she have loved him from the first, want to be with him always as she had claimed? Bloody hell, had her tears been real? The accusations he’d thrown at her chased through his mind, and he swallowed hard the lump of regret that formed in his throat. Kristiana’s sobs reached him and his heart turned over as what felt to be a thousand daggers ripped into his soul. He had been wrong, he knew in that moment. He had allowed the lessons of his past to corrupt his thoughts, to make him imagine things that could be no farther from the truth, and, in doing so, he had hurt her beyond comparison. Words of regret, of apology, of hope all sprang to his lips. He shook them away and pushed open the door. Somehow he would make this up to her. He would erase the ache that wrenched his gut with every one of her tears. “Leave us, Mary.” Kristiana’s head snapped up from where she buried it in her hands and she looked upon him through red, puffy eyes. She looked far more miserable then she had the day before. Then he’d been glad for her suffering, now he could barely tolerate gazing upon her without dropping to his knees and begging her forgiveness. Mary looked to Kristiana, and she nodded her assent. “’Tis all right, Mary. Go on.” The young woman went to Kristiana and gave her a quick hug, before heading toward the door. She cast Tavish a disapproving look and then left them in silence. Closing the door behind him, he walked into the bedchamber and sat in the chair Mary had just vacated. The same chair, he noted, where he had found Kristiana masturbating the day before. His cock thrummed to life at the memory of her sweet pussy open and glistening. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why would you pleasure yourself instead of allowing me to do so?” Confusion swam through her eyes. “I wanted to learn my body so I could better use it to please you. ‘Tis the truth,” she added on a hasty breath. He scowled at her remark. She thought she had to verify each of her words, and it was his fault, he knew. He made her doubt herself, and for that he owed her so very much. “I know it’s the truth, Kristi. Just as I know I was wrong.” She shrank back with his words, her eyes flaring wide. “Sir?” “I should have believed you when you said you loved me, that you came to me for your own reasons and not that of the villagers, but…” He stared at his feet, shame unlike anything he’d ever known racked through him. His rationale seemed selfish now, selfish and trivial. Still, he spoke it. “I was deserted by the man I respected most when I was a child, sent to live in a foreign land where all but my mother rejected me. Until I earned my way into society that is, and then ladies and gentleman alike fell at my feet to please me. Not because they cared for me, but because they cared for my name—my mother’s name—and, more, for my pocketbook.” He paused to look at her. She worried her lip in the way that drove him to complete and utter distraction. His shaft throbbed violently with the innocent action, and Tavish had to look away to stop


from rising and carrying her to the bed. “I have given my heart away twice to have it tossed back in my face. I promised myself there would be no third time. You made me want that third time, Kristiana. And just when I finally accepted it, you did the same as the others, telling me you cared for me, that you loved me, when in truth your actions were for the villagers—to see that their laird stayed on MacBain land. I know that isn’t what happened, but that is how it seemed.” “Perhaps if you had listened,” she said so softly he had to strain to hear. And what he heard was the trace of hope. The grief he’d known since hearing her tell Mary she loved him too much to see him suffer grew less, and once more he met her eyes. “I’m not known for my listening skills. Least of all when I think I am right.” Kristiana’s mouth twitched at the corners and he knew she fought a smile. Still, he wasn’t in the clear yet. Praying she wouldn’t reject him, he stood and went to her. He knelt before her and took her hands into his own. After brushing his lips over the back of each, he raised his gaze to hers. “I’ve made a mess of things, Kristi. I’ve hurt you, and I‘m sorry. I can’t allow you to leave for me. I don’t deserve it.” She hesitated for several seconds—several, long, gut wrenching seconds—then said, “And what if I were to stay?” “I’d be your friend and no more. I’ll never again touch you, nor taunt you with cruel words. We’ll be as family, the brother and sister we’d have been had your marriage to Tomas been consummated.” Frown lines marred her forehead and her lips fell flat. Tavish thought she would release his hands and push him away. She did, in fact, release his hands, but instead of pushing him away she brought her fingers to his jaw and lightly traced its contours. Her gaze fell upon his mouth and he bit back a groan of need. Her voice was thick with lust when she spoke. “What if I don’t wish to be your sister? What if I wish for you to touch me, to taunt me not with cruel words but with clever hands and skilled fingers?” He gulped back a breath as his desire to do just that grew to a nearly painful level. Once more he fought the urge to rise and carry her to the bed. “Then I would do so.” Kristiana’s fingers moved from his jaw to his mouth, rimming the soft skin and bringing his internal fire to a boiling point. Her eyes grew dark with passion, and he knew she felt the same warmth, the same hunger burning deep in her soul. “What if I wished for you to lay your mouth upon me?” she breathed. “Then I would do so,” he rasped. She lifted her gaze to meet his and the softest of smiles lit her face. “And what if I wish for you to carry me to my bed and make love to me?” His heart turned over with her words. The emotions he was certain he was immune to burst forth and he hugged her knees and rested his head in her lap. “Then I will do so. I will do anything for you, Kristiana. I am yours. Always.”


“Tavish?” He raised his head and looked into her eyes, eyes that spoke of hope and promise and secrets yet to be discovered. “Yes, my lady.” Her lips curved higher and her eyes gleamed a brilliant blue. “I wish for you to carry me to my bed and make love to me. I find my Christmas thus far has been dreary and I can’t help but think your services might remedy the situation.” His grip on her legs increased, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand and do her bidding. Not just yet. Not until he knew where their future lay, intertwined or as lovers merely by night. “My services? I’m to be your paramour then?” “Nay, you’re to be my husband, for though you might not see it, you do love me, and without me in your life, you wouldn’t feel complete.” In that moment, with her confidently spoken words, the happiness that had eluded Tavish the better part of his life was found. He caught her chin in his hand and caressed the soft rise of her cheek. The love that shone in her eyes was almost tangible. “There you’re wrong, my lady. I do see it. I have seen it nearly from the start, but chose to ignore it. I love you and I have missed you so very much.” She laughed, the lilting sound a balm to his heart. “I have not been gone yet.” Finally, he allowed himself to rise, to pull her into his arms and brush a tender kiss across her mouth. She parted her lips against his touch and he swept his tongue inside, licking at her sweetness as he strode to the bed on the opposite side of the chamber. “I haven’t seen you in many hours and, for my liking, that is too long already.” Kristiana laughed again, this time low and throatily, as he set her back on the rich green coverlet, then covered the softness of her body with his own hot, hard one. “Does this mean, sir, that you accept my proposal?” Grinning, he brushed her hair free of her neck and suckled on the delicate skin there until she writhed beneath him. She arched up, grinding her pussy against his aching cock and he growled his want as he began to strip her clothes away. “What it means, Lady MacBain…” He relieved her of her gown and underskirts in one deft move, and his breath dragged in on a gasp. She was naked beneath those layers, her body warm and flushed with anticipation for what was to come. He slipped his fingers between her parted thighs and her juices drenched his skin. He worked his fingers past the cleft of her pussy and petted her swollen clit. With a restless mewl, she tugged his shirt open and splayed her palms against the hard, defined muscles. He thrust his fingers into her core, stroking her hot, trembling cunt, and her nails sank into his flesh. “You were saying, my laird?” she breathed. “What it means, Lady MacBain,” Tavish started again, his voice thick with appetite and his balls bursting with tension, “is that unlike my brother, who was too addled to realize what a gift he’d received, I plan to consummate our marriage every day and every night until we’re too exhausted to continue. What say you we start right now?”


Kristiana pressed against his chest and he rolled onto his back. Straddling his thighs with her damp body, she pulled his shirt from his breeches and lowered her head to lick at his flat nipples. Her hair teased over his chest as her rough tongue flicked again and again at his nipples. They grew taut and she pulled one into her mouth, biting down roughly on it the way he‘d done to her the day before. He’d done it to punish her, but at the wicked sensations that chased through his body, demanding he free his cock of his breeches this very moment, he knew he hadn’t punished her at all. No, he had brought her the same mind-numbing pleasure she now gave to him. She drew free of his nipple and sat back, her high breasts tipped with hard, rosy buds and a lazy smile gracing her beautiful face. She scooted lower on his body, until her damp pussy ground against his upper thighs and then she made haste in releasing his shaft from his breeches. Grasping his rock hard cock in her hand, she finally answered his question, “I say, Laird MacBain, that you had better be well rested for I plan to give you the longest-lasting and finest Christmas gift ever.” He lifted his hands to palm her breasts, remembering how they tasted that night he‘d found her perched on his windowsill. That night he had truly been given the finest Christmas gift ever—the gift of pleasure at the hands of the woman he loved. “The finest gift, eh, my love, even better than a gift of myrrh?” Her impish smile spoke to his heart, his soul, and his mind as she scooted lower still, away from his grasp. She bent her head and flicked her tongue over the moisture beaded at the head of his cock. He arched up at her exquisite touch, pumping his shaft against her seeking lips. She pulled back and laughed at his greedy actions. “Aye, sir, even better than that.”

About the author:

Jodi Lynn Copeland resides on 30-acres of recreational woodland and farmland, minutes from Michigan's state capital. She has been writing since her junior year in college when she began a romantic suspense novel. Since then she has written numerous books, which range from single title mystery to erotic romance, and has won various writing awards. While not writing, she enjoys time in the outdoors--hunting, fishing, playing ball, or just spending time with her family and pets. Weekdays are spent on her day job as a technical writer, graphic designer, and web programmer for a national engineering firm, and evenings and weekends bringing tales of passion, romance, and adventure to life. Jodi is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America (GDRWA), Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America (MMRWA), Cata-Romance, and a dedicated critique group.


Jodi Lynn welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also by Jodi Lynn Copeland:

·

Uncharted Waters

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com


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