Page 16 of Taken by the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #2)

Jude sank into the bath with a sigh of relief. He’d been too distracted to seek out a bath earlier in the day. Still, the hour suited him well enough. The bathing chamber was deserted, leaving him with his thoughts.

In the quiet of the bathing chamber, he leaned back and allowed himself to think about Valerie Blackwood. He’d kept himself busy to avoid thinking too much about her for the remainder of the day, but now he was free to let his mind wander.

Valerie Blackwood… widowed, but never claimed by her husband.

He hadn’t expected that. He certainly hadn’t expected the wave of pleasure that flowed through him at the idea that she’d never known another man’s touch or love.

I wonder what it would be like to be the first man to show her pleasure and teach her the joys of the bedchamber.

To take her in my arms, kiss those soft lips until she gave herself over to me…

and stroke that soft, tanned skin, loosen the ties on those midnight tresses and run my hand through the silken waterfall of her hair…

She was shy but spirited. Oh, he could just imagine the way she’d moan his name as he caressed her breasts, the way she’d writhe as he touched her… Would she be sensitive around the ribs or the inside of her thighs? What about behind her knees?

He’d kiss his way down her body, find every place that made her moan, and drink in her arousal until she came apart around him. Or mayhap he’d stroke her core with his hand, bring her pleasure that way… find her pleasure center and tease it until she was on the edge, afore claiming her properly.

A wry smile twisted Jude’s lips. He’d seen enough of Valerie to know that she would hardly be a passive partner. If she chose to grace his bed—and it would be her choice, he would have it no other way—then she would hardly be content to lie there and do nothing.

He tipped his head back, imagining her hands and lips on his body. Stroking his chest, his stomach, his thighs…

Valerie had not fussed or recoiled at the sight of his scars, not the one on his knee or the others he’d acquired over the years. He could just imagine her sensitive, talented fingers tracing his skin, taking apart his control and putting him back together in a firestorm of pleasure.

With a groan, he closed his eyes, wrapping his hand loosely around his straining erection as he imagined Valerie’s hand gripping him instead.

The feel of her hands, so uniquely callused, sliding across the sensitive skin, her thumb caressing the tip of his shaft, before sliding down to caress his balls…

Or perhaps her tongue. That tongue, so quick with sharp wit, a warmth that could be either laughter or temper so ready in her words… Oh, he could imagine that tongue caressing him from tip to bollocks, dragging his release out of him until he fell apart under her ministrations.

Jude shifted in the tub, lost in his imaginings, then grunted as his knee twinged, the scar reminding him that he’d pushed himself a little harder than he should have in his fight against Craig.

His knee. Those two words, and the reminder of his scar, cooled his arousal like ice water dumped over his head.

He had no concerns that Valerie would look at him differently because of his scar. She wasn’t that sort of woman. But the scar itself…

It didn’t hamper him too much in his daily life. He could walk, run, ride, even fight—at least to a point. But making love was a completely different matter, and a different sort of exercise.

Proper lovemaking required his knee to flex in ways he’d not attempted since the day he was injured. He’d never found a woman who made him feel it was worth the effort.

There’s nay guarantee my knee would hold up through a passionate encounter… and a fine thing it would be to embarrass myself because I couldnae properly make love to a woman. I doubt Valerie, or any woman, would be pleased to be the ones doin’ all the work because I cannae keep up with her.

The thought was a bitter one, and it was followed by one that made him feel like he’d swallowed acid or live coals.

And what happens if more raiders come? What, then? I couldnae protect my maither or Kendra. How could I protect any other woman? And if they came for Valerie as they came for my sister, what then? I’d only fail her, just as I failed afore.

‘Tis one thing to snap and snarl at a snake like Laird MacOlley. I could probably drive a coward like that back if he were sneaking around and trying to treat Valerie like a possession, like he did in the market. But if he had an army at his back? If it were a pitched battle? That’s different, and with a blackguard like him, I’d most likely fail.

Whether he liked it or not, history had already proven he wasn’t strong enough to defend those he loved. And he already knew Valerie had a relentless pursuer.

She’d fled her home to keep her brother-in-law from having to fight Laird MacOlley. How could he expect to do any better than Laird MacKane? If he couldn’t protect Valerie, how could Jude be sure he’d be more successful?

Och, she’s better off if I keep my distance from her, and I’m better off nae riskin’ the embarrassment or my heart. I can dream as much as I like, but the truth is, I’m a wounded, broken warrior who cannae defend anyone—nae Kendra, nae Valerie… nae even myself.

With a muted snarl of frustration, Jude let his head fall back against the tub. He still ached with desire, but no longer had any will to do anything about it, his heart filled with the bitterness of memory and the awareness of his own weakness.

The water cooled, then turned cold, then almost frigid, and yet Jude remained in his lonely tub until the water was as cold as the despair and old grief that filled his soul.

Valerie noticed Jude’s absence at supper and for the rest of the evening. A part of her wondered if he was well, or if something had happened to him, but she was mostly relieved for the respite.

Kissing Jude, being teased by him… his presence, the heat and strength of him…

Everything about him stirred feelings she’d never felt before for any man.

The way he made her shiver with desire, the way his kiss had made her almost melt into his arms, and the way his words had made her whole body tingle—it was all new and tantalizing.

It frightened her. Before now, she’d clung to her mother’s advice and never considered any other path. Jude was the first man who had ever made her feel that she might want to ignore her mother’s words.

“Never let any man steal yer independence.”

Words she’d lived by ever since that day nearly eleven years ago when her mother had died.

She slept badly that night and woke up in the morning feeling both weary and determined.

Nay matter how I feel, I cannae let Jude sway my determination to remain independent. I simply cannae. Besides, there’s little chance I’ll remain here after I’ve finished my work, so it is best I dinnae get my hopes up, or let my wishes run away with me.

Now that I’ve taken the measurements I need, mayhap it is best if I avoid speakin’ with Ju—Laird MacFinn any more than I need to.

The idea made her feel somewhat cold inside, but even so, she could think of no other way to live with the situation, or with herself.

Jude was absent when she arrived to break her fast. Valerie ate quickly.

Then, after consideration, she called for Moira to bring her materials.

The Great Hall had large windows and plenty of light.

It was ideal for her work in that regard, even if she would have preferred a smaller, more private room to do her sewing.

She’d been working for perhaps half an hour when the door opened and Jude stomped inside. Valerie noted his arrival but kept her focus on her sewing. She thought she saw him stop, brow creasing as if he was puzzled by her silence, but he didn’t say anything, and neither did she.

Moira brought his morning meal, then came to offer Valerie a cup of tea. Valerie accepted it and drank, but kept her gaze firmly on her work.

She could feel Jude’s silence and the heat of his gaze, but she made no effort to look up or make conversation—not even to offer a greeting. She feared that even a single word might unravel her resolve like a torn piece of canvas caught on a nail.

She was working through the design of a kilt when Craig entered the room and came to her. “Miss Blackwood, I have a message for ye, from a Lady MacAllister.”

“Lady MacAllister?” Valerie blinked.

The name sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it.

“Aye, Lady Ailsa, wife to Laird MacAllister. She’s heard of yer skill as a seamstress, and she said she heard from her kinfolk that ye were here.

Her husband’s clan shares a border with ours, and she asked if ye could pay her a visit afore ye return home.

” Craig’s voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes, a spark that made Valerie feel he wanted her to accept.

She was hardly going to refuse, especially when another commission might mean another excuse to avoid Laird MacOlley’s demands for a little longer.

“Aye. I can go. Nae today, of course, but mayhap tomorrow or the day after.”

“Of course. I’ll send a message back to her at once.” Craig gave her a short bow, then made his way to the head table to join his Laird.

The two of them left shortly after, and Valerie was left to work in peace. She worked diligently, tracing out and cutting out patterns for kilts, trews, leggings, and shirts, as well as measuring out fabric for curtains with Moira’s help.

She worked throughout the day, changing positions as needed, only stopping to eat the noon meal Moira brought her, until the sun set and supper time arrived, along with Craig and Jude.

She could feel Jude’s inquiring gaze when she took the seat on Craig’s side, but he asked no questions, and she offered no explanations. By the time she finished her meal and left the table, the silence was nearly suffocating, but her resolve remained untested and unbroken.

The following morning passed in much the same way. She finished her meal before Jude arrived, and worked in silence while he ate, until he left to attend to whatever business awaited him. Then, she spread out her fabrics and continued to work.

She had finished several sets of curtains, though she and Moira would need to find a way to put them up, and was working on Jude’s clothing when Moira came to stand beside her.

“Miss Blackwood, is the light all right? The Laird said ye needed plenty of light.”

Valerie smiled at the older woman. “It is adequate for me.”

Moira chuckled. “Adequate isnae the same as good, and well I ken it, Miss Blackwood. If ye like, there’s a gallery in the north wing, on an upper floor. It gets light throughout the day through many large windows, and the light at this time of day is some of the best in the castle.”

Valerie blinked. “Are ye sure the Laird willnae mind?”

“Of course he willnae. Rarely anyone goes up there, including the Laird. It is a shame nae to use the space—I’ve already dusted the table and carried the other fabrics and yer spare tools up there.”

Valerie chuckled. “All right, I’m convinced.”

She rose and gathered her work, tucking it into her basket and apron as necessary before she followed Moira upstairs.

The room the maid led her to was one she hadn’t seen before, but she could see at once what Moira was talking about. Large windows filled the spaces between the portraits, facing east, west, and north. The result was an open, well-lit space, perfect for a seamstress.

It was almost like being outside, except there was no danger of sun sickness, no wind trying to steal her thread, and no interruption by the rain.

Something caught her eye, and she turned her head, facing the portrait of a man on the nearby wall. Though the man himself was unfamiliar, there was something about the shade of his hair, the line of his jaw, and the color of his eyes that was stunningly familiar.

“The Laird’s faither. A good man, and a stern one. The current Laird takes after him.” Moira’s remark startled her.

“He looks… young.”

Young and carefree with a smile that softened his features in a manner she couldn’t imagine seeing on Jude.

“Aye. ‘Tis custom for lairds and ladies to have an artist paint a portrait of them when they wed or reach their twentieth year. It used to be tapestries and the like, but this is easier to make and keep clean.”

“I see…”

Jude… he is more than twenty years of age, I am certain. That must mean…

It took her a moment to spot the image she sought.

Valerie blinked and took an involuntary step forward, startled by the appearance of the man in the portrait.

There was no doubt it was Jude, but he was clean-shaven, and there were fewer lines on his face.

Even more startling was the genuine smile on his face, bright and warm.

It transformed his face, making him look confident and content—happy even.

The expression suited him, and seeing the man he was before his injury and whatever other tragedy had befallen him made her heart ache.

“He is a handsome one, is he nae? With a smile like that, he could break any lass’s heart.” Moira’s sly declaration made Valerie jump.

With a guilty start, she realized she’d been staring at the portrait, rather than assessing her workspace.

She tore her gaze away from the portrait and turned to look at the room once more. “This is perfect. Thank ye, Moira.”

“Ye’re welcome, Miss Blackwood. I’m only sorry I didnae think of it afore.” Moira smiled and patted her hand, then turned and left the room.

Valerie took a deep breath and set her work on the low table in the center of the room.

She spent a moment savoring the warmth of the light and the dimensions of the room—so perfect it might have been made for her to work in—then sat down and resumed the work she’d been doing on a new kilt for Jude.

She’d scarcely been working for half an hour when the door slammed open and Jude charged inside, blade drawn and eyes wild. Valerie shrieked and bolted from her chair, bounding behind it before she could stop to think about her movements.

“What are ye doin’?”

“Are ye all right?” Jude’s scowl was a ferocious thing, his eyes darting around the room as if he expected enemy warriors to jump out of the stone at any moment.

“Of course I am. Why would I nae be?” Valerie stared at him, wondering what on earth had possessed him.

“Moira said—” His words were interrupted by the sound of the door slamming shut.

In the silence that followed, both of them heard the snick of the key turning in the lock.

“Och… she didnae…”

Jude went over and shoved at the door to no avail. The handle rattled but didn’t turn. He snarled in frustration.

“It seems Moira has locked us in.”