Page 15

It was no mystery how much the duke loved his stepdaughter—the untamed creature whose defiant nature and brutal honesty would have disrupted his dignified aristocratic life. But love entered a man’s heart when he least expected it.

As Murdo was beginning to realize.

She plucked a sandwich from the plate and took a bite. Then she unstoppered the bottle and handed it to him. “Try this.”

He held it to his lips, took a sip, then winced at the sharpness on his tongue.

She let out a laugh. “Too sour for you?”

“I was expecting milk, not lemonade.”

“I made it myself.”

He took another sip. “That explains why it’s the best thing I have ever tasted.”

“The cook helped.”

He handed the bottle back to her, and a fizz of need bubbled in his veins as their fingers touched. She hesitated, then caressed his fingers with hers, before taking the bottle.

On impulse, he picked up her slice of pie.

“Hungry?” he whispered.

She nodded, and he broke off a piece and held it to her lips. Her eyes glinted in the darkness and she parted her lips.

“Did I not say I’d feed ye myself, lass, when we were alone? Will ye open for me?”

Her eyes flared and he caught a spark of desire in them as she took the pie, her lips brushing against his fingers.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Sweet devil’s ballocks! His cock surged beneath his plaid, and he shifted position, lest she see the bulge.

Her lips moved as she chewed the pie, then her neck rippled as she swallowed, letting out a little groan of pleasure.

Then she leaned toward him, parting her lips once more in anticipation.

Did the lass know how what she was doing to him? Even the most accomplished whores were incapable of bringing him to the point of spending with a mere parting of their lips. But the lass before him…

Never before had he experienced such a powerful urge to bury himself inside a woman.

He tore off another piece of pie and offered it to her. This time, she lifted her hands and caught his wrist, guiding him toward her. She took the morsel and swallowed it eagerly, then she wrapped her lips around his fingers and caressed them with her tongue, running from root to tip.

He caught his breath as he pictured her kneeling before him, giving the same loving attention to that part of him that strained like a stag in rut in its eagerness to claim her.

Then she released his fingers and lifted the bottle to her lips. Her throat bobbed as she drank, then she set the bottle down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Aye, a wild, wanton woman—and he was determined to make her his.

“Why do you smile?” she asked.

“Och, lass—do ye not know?”

“Tell me.”

Because I know that I only need ask and ye’d part those pretty thighs and take my cock.

“B-because ye drank from the same bottle.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “I’m not supposed to do that, am I? I forgot to bring cups.”

“Ah, but don’t ye know that to share the same cup is a sign of trust?”

“Is it?”

“And love,” he said. “Where I’m from, it’s tradition that a bride and groom share the same cup before their guests, as a gesture of their newfound love.”

Her lips parted once more, glistening with moisture. Unable to conquer his need, he leaned forward and captured them in a kiss.

“Is that another tradition where you’re from?” she whispered.

“Aye,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Even outside, on the moors? Is that not terribly wicked?”

“And all the more pleasurable for it,” he said, drawing her close. “In my homeland, we kiss our women on the slopes of the mountain.”

“You let women climb mountains?”

“Our lasses are strong. I’ll show ye how to climb the mountain at my home—to scramble over the rocks, to feel the heartbeat of the earth pulse through the granite, and…”

He caught his breath as the image filled his mind and stiffened his cock.

“And I’ll show ye how to swim naked in the loch.”

“Oh, my…”

She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. She shuffled closer, and her skirts rose, revealing a bare thigh—creamy-white flesh that seemed to glow in the darkness of the cave.

Unable to resist, he placed a hand on her thigh. A rich scent filled the cave, the sweet aroma of female need.

She slipped her tongue into his mouth and moved it slickly across his own tongue, issuing mewls of pleasure that sent a fire of need through his blood.

A wild creature, she was—earthy, untamed, and primal.

He moved his hand higher, and she gave a deep sigh and arched her back. Then his fingers met her slick heat and it was all he could do to stop his body from exploding.

Sweet Lord —what a glorious creature she was! A pagan goddess for him to worship.

And worship her he would. He ran his fingertip along her flesh, and she shuddered with pleasure. Then he found the little bud at her center. She jerked as she broke the kiss and let out a cry.

“Murdo!”

This must be what heaven was like—to hear his name on the lips of the woman he loved.

Then he checked himself. The woman he loved…

Aye. I love her.

He slipped his finger inside her. She threw her head back and cried out. Her body rippled and tightened around his finger while she surrendered to her pleasure until, at length, she grew still, pulsing faintly against him.

He lifted his plaid and his cock sprang free. Then she parted her thighs.

One thrust and she would be his.

“Murdo,” she whispered, her eyes hooded. “I’ve never…” She shook her head. “It that what it’s supposed to be like?”

She clung to him, and her trust almost broke his heart.

“Forgive me, lass,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. Not without your consent.”

“You did nothing I didn’t want you to do,” she said. “It was… wonderful .”

He grinned to himself. The women he’d enjoyed before had always moaned and sobbed beneath him—but most played a part to please him, or to earn themselves an extra coin.

Never before had a woman he’d pleasured utter with such frankness that his lovemaking was wonderful . And never before had he wanted a woman so badly to the exclusion of all others.

He lowered her skirts and wiped his hand on his plaid. Her eyes shimmered with disappointment. She curled her legs beneath her then stared out to the landscape outside, framed by the entrance of the hollow.

“D-did you not like it?” she asked.

He pulled her against his chest, where he felt her heartbeat pulsing against his frame.

“On the contrary, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’re a goddess. I want nothing more than to worship ye with my body—on the floor of this cave, against the granite rocks of my homeland, and every night in my bed. But I cannot take ye now. I must wait and honor ye as ye deserve to be honored.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, “the honorable thing. My clan places honor above all else.” He caressed her hair. “ Vi et honore, ” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Strength and honor. It’s our clan motto. Our mountain is called Beinn Urraim.”

“Beinn Urraim?”

“It means Mountain of Honor, lass,” he said. “Honor is the principle that’s guided me all my life. Loyalty to my clan is my reason to live—loyalty, and the woman I love.” He grinned. “Besides, yer mother and stepfather would never forgive me if I dishonored ye. They’d have my…”

“Your ballocks?” she said, with a giggle.

“Aye. And my ballocks don’t belong to yer parents. My ballocks—and every other part of me—are yours. If ye’ll take them.”

She stiffened.

“You mean…”

“Will ye consent to be my wife?”

Her eyes flared with joy, then clouded over with fear.

“Do ye not want me for a husband, Clara?”

“Oh, I do ,” she said. “B-but my past. It’s…”

“Yer past is of no consequence,” he said. “Whether ye’re the daughter of a king, the child of a pauper, or a changeling left on the moors by the faeries, it matters not. It’s ye I want, Clara. I knew it from the moment I saw ye.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m certain, lass. Nothing could stop me from wanting ye with every fiber of my soul. Will ye end my torment, and say that ye’ll return to my homeland and become my wife?”

For a moment she stared at him and his soul stilled in anticipation—and fear—of her answer.

Then she gave a shy smile, and nodded.

“Yes, Murdo Alastair James McTavish,” she said. “I’ll gladly be your wife.”