Page 13 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

KYLIE WAS ALREADY waiting for Rae in his solar, seated on one of the high-backed chairs, when he finally entered, Storm at his heel. The Highland collie went straight to her and pressed unabashedly against her legs. Laughing, she stroked his ears.

“That dog isn’t bothering ye, is he?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “He can be a terrible pest, at times.”

She flashed him a smile. “Not at all.” Meanwhile, the collie nudged her with his nose, encouraging her to continue.

He whistled then. “Come, Storm … leave the poor woman be.”

Flashing him a disappointed look, the dog moved off and settled onto a sheepskin before the unlit hearth.

“Wine?” he asked then, as he moved to the sideboard.

“Aye, thank ye.”

He poured them two cups of plum wine, and had just handed Kylie hers, when a knock came at the door. “Supper,” a female voice sang out .

“Aye,” Rae called. “Bring it in.”

Two lasses from the kitchen brought in trays of freshly baked bread, stew, cured sausage, cheese, and apples. It was a simple meal, but there was plenty of food, and it was exactly what Rae was in the mood for this evening.

He moved to the table and took his seat. “Sorry I was so late joining ye for supper … I put the lads to bed, and they insisted on a tale.”

Kylie’s mouth curved once more as she took her place opposite him. “What story did ye tell them?”

“Lyle’s favorite … the Headless Horseman.” He pulled a face then. “Both lads love the bit where a claidheamh-mòr lops off Euan’s head, while his horse gallops away with his corpse held in place by the stirrups.”

She winced. “A grisly tale, that one.”

“Aye … just the kind wee lads love … especially since it happened on Mull.”

“So, have ye seen this grisly specter yerself?” she teased.

He shook his head, his mood sobering then. “No … but my brother has.”

That got her attention. “Aye?”

He took a sip of wine and set down his cup before picking up the basket of bread and offering it to her. Kylie took a slice, although her gaze remained upon him. He wasn’t going to get away without telling her the tale.

“Do ye know how Jack and Tara met?” he asked after a pause.

She shook her head.

“Tara is a Mackinnon of Dùn Ara … daughter to the former clan-chief. Around four years ago, my brother stole her away in an act of revenge. ”

Kylie’s eyes snapped wide. Clearly, despite that Tara had spent time with Kylie and her sister, she hadn’t divulged her history. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Kendric Mackinnon killed our father … they’d met to discuss land rights, and their discussion erupted into an argument … one that ended in my father’s murder.” Rae’s mood shadowed then, as it always did when he remembered the tragedy. “I was thrust into the role of chieftain at the age of seventeen … too busy learning how to rule to nurse hatred and revenge. But Jack did.”

Kylie’s brow furrowed at this. Meanwhile, Rae busied himself with slicing some cheese and sausage and placed them onto the trenchers before them.

“So, Jack abducted Tara with the intention of doing her harm?” she asked after a moment.

Rae nodded. “He intended to sell her to a pirate.” She murmured an oath at this, yet he continued. “Jack’s act was rash and foolish … he ended up on the run with her. It wasn’t long though before he realized his mistake … before he lost his heart to his enemy’s daughter.” He paused then, giving his head a rueful shake. “One morning, on the western slopes of Ben Mòr, they spied the Headless Horseman.”

Her lips parted. “Isn’t it supposed to bode ill for the blood-kin of any Maclean who sets eye on it?”

He nodded. “Ye know yer Mull folklore, it seems.”

She gave a soft snort. “Liza told me the tale when I was at Moy Castle.”

“Aye … that’s how the story goes … and when we nearly lost Loch’s sister, Astrid, at the Battle of Dounarwyse, we believed the superstition might be true.” He f avored her with a wry smile then. “But Astrid rallied, and here the rest of us are four years on … very much alive.”

Kylie swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese, all the while stealing glances at the man seated opposite her.

What a tale that had been.

She had no idea of Jack and Tara’s unconventional match. The woman had given up everything, including her kin, to be with the man she loved. Tara never told me she’s a Mackinnon of Dùn Ara .

“Why has this story never reached my ears?” she asked finally, breaking the silence between them. “I’d expect all of Mull to know of it.”

Maclean huffed a sigh. “While Tara’s father still lived, it was dangerous to let on the whereabouts of his daughter … so we kept things quiet,” he replied. “Bran Mackinnon knows his sister lives at Dounarwyse, of course … but there’s little he can do about it.” He eyed her then. “Few people outside this broch even know that Tara is a Mackinnon. She’s gotten used to not talking of her origins.”

Taking the warning, Kylie nodded. “Well, ye can rest assured that I won’t be spreading gossip,” she answered. All the same, she’d have to tell Makenna—especially since she was betrothed to Tara’s brother. “Seventeen is young to have taken on the mantle of laird,” she said after a pause. “Ye must have found it difficult.”

His fingers tightened around his cup of wine. “Harder than I ever admitted to anyone.” He grimaced then. “Jack named me a ‘fazart’ for not avenging our father’s death, and I hit back … our quarrel led to a ten-year estrangement. ”

Kylie stilled at this revelation. “And did ye marry young too?” she asked softly.

The laird’s features tensed. “No … I was one and twenty when I took Donalda as my wife.” He then pushed away his trencher, and the remains of his meal, and leaned back in his chair, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. “As ye might have guessed … we weren’t overly happy together.”

Kylie wasn’t sure how to respond. Indeed, she’d speculated on the laird’s marriage, yet hadn’t been bold enough to ask him directly about it. All the same, he’d heard her unvoiced question.

Silence swelled between them before he lifted his cup to his lips then and took a deep draft. “Donalda was a good woman, and it was a fine match, for she was the daughter of a MacDonell chieftain. She was an excellent mother and chatelaine too, but things between us were …” He trailed off there, cutting his gaze away. “Distant.”

Kylie picked up her cup and took a large gulp. Curse her, she now heartily wished that she hadn’t led them onto this subject. It was clearly one that put him in ill humor. Earlier, she’d been enjoying the laird’s company. They’d had an exhilarating day out, and their conversation when they’d stopped atop Dùn da Ghaoithe had made her relax in his company.

“It didn’t help that Donalda’s womb took a long time to quicken. Seven years, in fact … and only after she went to see a herbwife for help,” he spoke up once more, taking Kylie by surprise. “She didn’t welcome my touch … but forced herself to do so to give me sons.” A deep groove furrowed between his eyebrows at the memory. “It made me feel like a beast … as if each time I lay with my wife, she barely suffered it. ”

“Didn’t ye try to make coupling … pleasurable … for her?” The moment the question slipped from her tongue, Kylie slammed her mouth shut. Hades, what was wrong with her this evening? Mortified, she took another gulp of wine.

Maclean’s attention cut back to her, his mouth quirking, even as his gaze remained shadowed. “I did my best … but Donalda was my first … my only … lover.”

Kylie’s pulse quickened. She had only herself to blame for the turn this conversation had taken. She wasn’t sure how she’d expected Maclean to respond, but she hadn’t seen this admission coming.

“Apologies,” he said, flashing her an embarrassed smile. “This isn’t a conversation fit for a lady.”

She snorted before reaching for the wine jug, refilling both their cups. “Really? I was the one who instigated it.”

“Coupling doesn’t disgust ye then?”

She flashed him a veiled look. “No … I was wed once, remember?”

His jaw tightened, and she swore she saw something akin to jealousy flash in his eyes. “Yer husband pleased ye then?”

She let out a long, slow exhale before shaking her head. It was her turn to divulge details now, and only right too since he’d been candid with her. “At first … until Errol grew frustrated that I never got with bairn.” She broke off then, her chest constricting at painful memories. “He was desperate for sons, ye see … and fathered three of them on local women.” A familiar ache rose in her chest at this admission. “Things were never the same between us after he strayed from my bed … I stopped enjoying our coupling after that, for I could never trust him enough to relax in his arms again. ”

Maclean didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t blame him either. She’d said more than enough. Too much, in fact. What was it about this man that made her blurt out her unfiltered thoughts? This gruff, enigmatic chieftain had a strange power over her.

“Ye didn’t deserve such treatment, lass,” he said finally, his voice roughening. “No woman does.”

“Aye, well … no man wants a barren wife,” she answered ducking her head so he wouldn’t see the bitterness in her eyes.

He made a noise in the back of his throat. “For a while, Donalda and I both worried that we wouldn’t have bairns … but never did I consider straying from her bed because of it.”

The ache under her breastbone deepened. “That’s because ye are a decent man, Rae. If only there were more men like ye.” She swallowed then, cursing herself for addressing him by his first name. He should remain ‘Maclean’ to her. It was proper.

She was still railing at herself, when he answered, “I’m not that decent.” His voice was low, but something in it made her chin kick up. “If I were, I wouldn’t ache for ye, Kylie .” The expression on his face made her pulse flutter in the hollow of her neck. Her breathing now came in short, shallow gasps. The man was looking at her as if he wished to devour her.

Tension crackled in the air between them. She didn’t speak, for she didn’t want to break this delicious, forbidden enchantment that had spun between them. However, what she wished to admit was that this infatuation wasn’t one-sided. She ached to tell him she hadn’t forgotten their kiss or that the sight of him naked on the shore that day had made her imagine a host of inappropriate things.

The silence swelled, and then Maclean pushed himself up from the table .

Her belly clenched in disappointment. He thought he’d taken things too far and was about to end their conversation. “I should be honest with ye as well,” she said huskily. “It seems only fair.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Aye?”

“Aye.” She broke off there, swallowing as her throat tightened. “The truth is … I … I want ye too.”

His lips parted, and for a moment, he merely stared at her. And then, to her surprise, he turned and moved to the bookshelf behind him. Taking down a slim wine-red leather-bound volume, he handed it to her. He then lowered himself back down onto his seat.

Pulse still skittering, Kylie viewed the leather cover. “The Art of Coupling,” she murmured before glancing up at him, confused. “What’s this?”

“Ye are right … I was unsure of myself when I first wed … but then I found this on my father’s bookshelf” —Hades, the man was blushing now— “that spoke of how to bed a woman.” He gave a soft snort then. “I read it from cover to cover, but when I attempted to do some of the things I’d read with Donalda, she screeched like a banshee.”

Kylie swallowed. “Ye read a book about … coupling ?”

“Aye.” He paused then. “Open it … if ye dare.”

Her breathing caught. There had been no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

He’d just thrown down the gauntlet, and she’d answer.

Jaw setting, Kylie flashed him a feisty look before settling her attention upon the book once more. Aye, her face was likely glowing like a coal, but she wouldn’t be cowed. He thought she didn’t have the spine to look inside this book. But he was wrong .

Even so, when she opened the volume at a random page and scanned the words that had been written there, her breathing choked off.

When yer lover’s quim is suitably wet … rub her juices over yer swollen member and—

“By the Saints.” She shut the book with a snap. “Where did yer father get this?”

“I have no idea,” Maclean replied. “He never spoke to me of it, obviously … but he and my mother were happily wed. He must have gone to some lengths to please her.” Their gazes fused then, the moment drawing out. “Ye can borrow it, if ye wish?”

Kylie flushed hot. Her first instinct was to throw this volume back at him and leap to her feet before making a hasty excuse and fleeing the solar.

But she didn’t. Instead, an odd, kindling excitement flickered to life in the cradle of her hips. She was so aware of the man seated opposite. Even though the table separated them, she marked every detail about him, including the shallow rise and fall of his broad chest as he watched her.

Maclean was waiting for her to refuse, for her to hand the book back with a shake of her head and a look of reproach.

But she wouldn’t. Once again, a strange boldness had gotten its claws into her. “Very well,” she replied finally. “I shall. Thank ye.”

Silence fell between them, and when the laird shattered it, his voice was strained. “As I said, I’m not a ‘good’ man, Kylie. If I were, I wouldn’t imagine going through that book … page by page … and doing everything it describes to ye. ”

She stopped breathing altogether at these words. Squeezing her thighs together, for her quim was aching now, she stared back at him.

Rae’s lips lifted at the corners, although his gaze had now turned bleak. “Aye, lass … I am that depraved.” He raised a hand, scrubbing it through his short hair. “And if ye don’t wish to remain at Dounarwyse in the wake of such a revelation, I shall understand.”

Kylie searched his face, marking the self-recrimination plastered over it now. What a tortured man he was—passionate yet ashamed of it. Sadness constricted her throat then. How lonely he must have been over the years. “I don’t want to leave, Rae,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed, tension rippling through his broad shoulders. “Ye don’t?”

“I admitted I wanted ye too, didn’t I?”

“Ye did … but I thought—”

She shook her head. “I have no wish to get emotionally ‘entangled’ with anyone again … or to ever take another husband … but yer words don’t shock me.” She paused then, her pulse lurching before she blurted out, “On the contrary … I find them intriguing.”

He gave a shaky laugh, reached for his cup, and drained it. And when he set it back on the table, she noted a slight tremor in his hand. “I don’t want to remarry either,” he admitted, his tone roughening once more. “But nor do I want to spend the rest of my days living as a monk.”

Kylie stilled at these words. Was he celibate? Surely, a man as attractive as him could easily find a servant to warm his bed? Meanwhile, the laird’s gaze met and held hers. “Do ye intend to remain chaste? ”

She considered his words a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “I’d rather not … but it isn’t the same for women as men.” She couldn’t help but inject a chiding edge into her voice. “Ye can visit brothels and take lovers with impunity … but a widow cannot. Not if she doesn’t want folk to whisper behind her back.” She broke off then, dropping her gaze to where her finger now traced the patterns of the oaken table. She couldn’t believe they were discussing such things.

“Ye could take a lover in secret.”

Her heart started to thump against her breastbone. She knew where this conversation was heading, and she was suddenly skittish. “I could.”

“And if yer lover didn’t make emotional demands on ye … if he didn’t try to trap ye in marriage … would ye consider such a liaison?”

“I don’t know,” she replied hoarsely. “Relationships often sour once the initial excitement fades … the situation could get … complicated.”

“What if there was a time limit?” he asked, his voice lowering once more.

“What do ye mean?” Her voice was little more than a croak now, sweat bathing her skin. She’d never had a conversation like this. It was both erotic and alarming, and it made her feel as if she were spinning out of control.

“What if I took ye to my bed from the first of September … and we spent the autumn and winter months working our way through The Art of Coupling,” he replied, his gaze gleaming now. “But once the first spring bulbs flower, we ended our involvement to prevent unwanted emotional entanglement. After that, this … hunger … would be sated.”