Page 42 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“We?” He disentangled himself from her, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “ We must destroy the ship?”

“Of course we . I can’t very well do it by myself.” Marjorie extracted the sheet from the rumple of bed linens and covered herself, her body chilled without him. “Have I upset you?”

He appeared to give the question thorough consideration, and then, inexplicably, he began to laugh. His easy, lopsided grin put her at her ease. “Not in the slightest, actually,” he said, standing up. “I’m feeling difficult to upset.”

She sat straight up. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t fash yourself, Ree. I’ll not leave the premises.

” He stepped into his trews and then strolled to the side table.

“Unless you wish me to race down to the docks immediately and set fire to the ship. Or were you of a mind for something more along the lines of, say, an explosion? With black powder perhaps?”

“I hadn’t considered something so spectacular as all that. Where would someone even get black powder?”

He gave her an amazed look.

The man was joking. She pouted back at him. “Cormac, be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” He retrieved a chipped white and blue basin. “We have terribly serious business to attend.”

His body was taut, and she stared, enthralled by the minute flex of muscles in his back and arms as he walked to the door.

She regretted mentioning the ship. She should’ve held her tongue and kept him in her bed a while longer.

Though he couldn’t get far with his shirt trapped beneath her leg. “What business? What are you doing?”

He paused in the doorway. “Earlier, you’d asked for a bath. Before we pursue any nonsense pertaining to ships or smugglers, I’d honor your request.”

“But Humphrey doesn’t know you’re here. You can’t just—”

He opened the door, and somebody gasped and stumbled backward.

Marjorie swiftly pulled her sheet higher, covering her shoulders, and craned her neck to peek.

It was one of the girls Fiona kept about to help with the washing, a young dark-haired wisp of a thing, and she’d been listening in the doorway.

How Cormac knew the girl would be standing there, she had no idea.

His body altered slightly, and Marjorie was mesmerized to watch his metamorphosis from lover into threat. “You work for Fiona?”

Cowering, the girl gave a panicked nod. The poor creature was likely no older than twelve. Marjorie rolled her eyes—it was a young age at which to be exposed to the full force of Cormac MacAlpin.

“And you value this work, do you not?”

She gave him another fretful nod, this time accompanied by a curtsy.

“Then you’ll fetch us water. Warm, mind.” He handed her the basin. She reached for it, but he held it in place as he added, “And if anyone becomes aware of my presence here, I’ll know it was you who told them. Just as I knew you were listening outside this door.”

Nodding frantically now, she edged backward before spinning and dashing down the hallway.

He shut the door, saying with a smile, “You’ll have your bath directly. Well, not a full bath, but I’ve my ideas.” Stalking to the bed, he peeled the sheet from her torso and ran a possessive hand down her body. “I assure you, it will be a thorough one, at the very least.”

She spied the thick bulge in his trews, and goose bumps rippled across her skin. All thoughts of the Oliphant fled to the back of her mind.

By the time the girl returned, Cormac had found a linen washcloth, a new cake of Marjorie’s favorite rose soap, and he had her spread across the bed like a holiday meal on the table. Before the maid had a chance to knock, he opened the door, just a crack this time.

“Put the bowl down. Aye, that’s the way,” Cormac said in a low voice. His body blocked the door, and Marjorie could only imagine the terror on the poor girl’s face. “I’ve told you what’ll happen if folk find out I’m here, but would you like to know what will happen if they don’t?”

There was a rustling, a pause, and then he continued, “Your mistress Marjorie is a good woman. I’m only here because she needs help. She’s done no wrong, and you do no wrong if you choose to help her, too. If you mind me, I’ve a thruppence in my sporran, and it’ll be just for you.”

Marjorie heard a childlike gasp.

“But heed this,” he added sternly. “If I catch you listening at this door one more time, the thruppence is mine.”

There was the pattering of bare feet as the girl dashed away.

“Your touch with children is magical,” Marjorie said with a laugh. “All glowering and bribes. How’d I not think of it myself?”

“Easy, lass. I ken you’re not above bribery.” He came to the edge of the bed, basin in hand. “I’ve seen you dole out your wee packets of steak pie to the Saint Machar lads, who, by the by, could do with a fair spot of glowering besides.”

Stripping off his trews, he knelt before the bed, and excitement thrummed through her. Whatever did he have in mind? Slipping his hands beneath her calves, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. The thrumming intensified to fire crackling in her belly.

He stroked his hands up her legs, and with a gentle squeeze, parted them. She lay naked before him, and the cool air on her bare skin made her breasts pull tight. The wickedness of it made her heart skip.

“Now, enough of your ships and your plans and your sass.” He rubbed his thumbs in languid circles on the insides of her thighs. “You’d longed for a bath, and I’ll not allow anyone to say I’m not a good man to my woman.”

His woman. She thought her soul would burst from her body, so exhilarating did that sound. “ Your woman, am I?”

Rather than answer, he studiously dipped the cloth in the water, a wicked grin cocking the corner of his mouth. “You need to lie back, Ree. For the full effect, aye?”

She did as he told her, the thrill of it bringing a secret smile to her face.

She tensed at the first shocking touch of wet washcloth on skin.

But the water was warm, his touch confident, and soon she relaxed into the bed.

He began at her feet, massaging them, and the cloth was just rough enough not to tickle yet soft enough so as not to abrade. She gave a little hum of contentment.

Cormac methodically washed, rinsed the rag, and washed some more, and she gladly let him. She felt love in his touch, even if he hadn’t yet spoken the words.

His woman. He’d called her his woman. But for how long?

“What’s to come of us, Cormac?” she asked quietly.

She heard the tinkling of water wrung into the bowl. He rose and sat on the bed, swabbing the cloth along the side of her hip. “Come of us?”

“When all this is done.” Her skin was cool where the damp cloth had touched her, but her blood pumped hot, her body responding to the rhythmic stroking of his hand along her torso. “We can’t just go on as before.”

His eyes met hers, held them. “No,” he agreed at last, his voice a low rasp. “Not the same as before.”

She saw hesitation in his eyes. “But . . . ?”

“But I don’t deserve you, Ree. Look at you,” he said, raking her body with his gaze. “You’re a treasure.”

He pulled the edge of her gown from the floor, rubbing the rich fabric between his fingers.

“For me, this”—he held up the hem and, even in the low light, it shimmered—“this is a masquerade. And yet this is what you deserve. Wealth and finery.” He tossed the dress back down.

“You should have a handsome lord with an estate and a fleet of maids at your disposal. Not a poor fisherman living in a tumble of rocks.”

Cormac was so much more than a mere fisherman. It baffled her that he didn’t see it. “What if I want a poor fisherman?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Then you strike a poor bargain.”

“In any case, money matters not. I’ve money from Humphrey. It simply doesn’t matter.” She stilled his hand with her own. “Cormac, don’t you see? I’d live the rest of my days, happily raising our children in your tumble of rocks , if it meant we could be together.”

Pain flashed across his face. “Children? How could I ever raise children? Christ, Ree, how could I, of all men, raise a son?”

“I think you’d do a fine job of it.”

“Children,” he mused, raising his brows as though their existence had only just then occurred to him.

“Aye.” She rolled onto her side to face him. “A house full of sons. With your dark hair, and your long, strong bones. They’d have your eyes.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, drew them along the side of his cheek, his jaw.

She wondered what held him back. Was it the thought of children that made him hesitate, or the thought of children with her ?

“Although they might have a touch of their mother in them, too,” she added, looking away. “Whoever she might be.”

“But I already know the mother of my children. And I want them to have her eyes.” Cormac’s voice was husky with emotion.

He cupped her cheek, bringing her gaze to his.

Easing Marjorie onto her back, he leaned his body over hers.

He studied her face, tracing a delicate line along the tops of her cheekbones, over her brows.

“I’ll have sons with eyes that are blue like jewels, vivid and bright.

Eyes that see the good in the world. Eyes that smile. Your eyes, Ree, my love.”

He kissed her then, tenderly. Mending two hearts that had spent a lifetime broken.