Page 9 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

I do believe I’m going to be ill.

Pockpuds. Could MacKay have used a more derisive term? No. And it certainly left no doubt in her mind as to what he thought of her ilk. Merciful mother of God. The only man who had ever kissed her, the only one she had ever felt a liking for—-in truth, felt lust for—-loathed what she was.

And what of the inquisition the court planned for her? How could she possibly answer questions about a man she knew little of? From a brother, no less! Should she find her way clear, should she ever again find herself in the bosom of her home, she would find Sir Gregory Campbell forthwith, and not only clout and stomp on him, but drive a stake through his miserable, conniving heart.

“Here.”

She startled, finding MacKay at her side, a full keltie in hand. “Thank ye.” When MacKay wasn’t trying to seduce her he could be rather kind. She brought the goblet to her mouth and gulped. And then gulped some more.

MacKay placed a hand on her arm. “Whoa, lass. There’s no need to drown yerself.” He took the goblet from her hands and gently stroked her cheek. “And there’s no cause to fash. Trust me, Albany has taken precautions to ensure that Alistair can’t stack the court against ye. Too, I’ll be at yer side throughout the whole process.”

Oh, grand. Both my accuser and my likely executioner will be at my side. Aaugh.

Proof or no proof of who wants King James back on the throne, I have to leave this place before Wednesday next.

MacKay lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. Oh, such lovely gold eyes. Tears burned at the back of her throat, and she sniffed.

“Katie, no harm will befall ye, I promise.”

She sniffed again. What little he knows. And he’d called her Katie twice now, the endearment her Nana always used...when she could remember Kate at all. “Aye, you’re right, of course.” She let out a shaky sigh. “I need go to my bed now.” She would need the night to think.

“Ye may stay here.” He grinned. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Was that wistfulness in his voice? No, likely just kindness. “Thank ye, but I think it best that I go to the ladies’ quarters. ”

He had an odd look in his eye as he stroked her cheek again. “As ye wish.”

~#~

On the fourth floor, Ian stopped in the hall before the first of two doors, the one that opened to the ladies’ quarters where the household’s unmarried daughters and women slept. Across the hall, stood the entrance to what he had come to think of as the Whelp’s Den. Here bairns too old to sleep with their parents yet too young to be shipped off for fostering—-not yet seven years--slept.

He took Kate’s hand in his. “Are ye sure, lass?”

When she nodded, he resigned himself to a lonely night in a cold bed and eased open the door, only to find there wasn’t a square inch of bed or floor to be had. Humph.

He backed up so she could see the situation for herself. As she looked about she nibbled on her lower lip. When she stepped back he eased the door closed and whispered, “Ye can have my room. I’ll settle in the great hall. Lord kens I’ve done it often enough.”

She shook her head. “‘Tis most gracious of you, but I cannot allow it. I’ll settle in the hall.” Seeing he wasn’t the least happy about that, she laid a hand on his arm. “Given my current situation,” she whispered, “it might prove wisest for me to be seen sleeping alone.”

Stubborn woman. She was right, of course, but sitting upright in a corner, fashing the night away, imagining all manner of dire things that could happen to her three days hence wasn’t what he’d choose for her. But what to do?

Ack, he’d think of something.

He held out a hand, “To the hall, then.”

At the formal entrance to the hall, he pulled back the curtain and looked about the darkened interior. The answer to his dilemma—-finding something for Kate to think about, to fash over besides her upcoming inquisition—-sat huddled by the far wall. He let the curtain fall and took her hand. In a whisper he said, “Come, we need enter from the other side.”

She sighed in resigned fashion.

He led her through a dark passageway and turned into the ante room of Albany’s chambers. In the far right corner he pushed on a panel. The wood swung open on silent hinges and he pulled her, owl-eyed, into a close space and closed the door.

When she started to protest the total blackness, he stepped behind her. “Shhh, dinna fash, we’re here.” He reached over her shoulder and pushed on the wall before them, allowing the secret panel to open only a matter of inches. Wrapping his arms about her, he pulled her closer, pressing her back against his chest. Splaying his fingers across her belly, he whispered against her ear, “Look, all are asleep save the couple to yer right against the wall.”

She looked where he indicated and felt her breath catch. The couple before them were quietly copulating, the man sitting on a recessed bench, the lady, her modest breasts exposed and facing him, rocking on his lap.

Ian grinned. Nothing like a wee bit of voyeur to set a lady’s fashing mind on an alternative path.

When the man leaned forward and took the woman’s breast into his mouth, Ian murmured against Kate’s ear, “Tsk, he’s doing it all wrong.”

He waited and as expected he felt her body heat rising under his hands.

Finally she whispered, “How so?”

Good lass. He exhaled against her neck. “There’s a right way and a wrong to everything. See how he’s pushing into her breast as if it were a pillow?”

She nodded, barely.

“‘Tis not good. A man needs to lift the breast like so...” He slid a hand up her ribs and palmed her glorious right globe. His fingers gently kneaded. Rewarded by a quiet moan and her weight settling more fully against him, he ran a finger across her nipple. Feeling it grow rigid, Ian kissed her neck. “He should now suckle like so.” He gently rolled her nipple betwixt thumb and finger, then gently tugged in rhythm with the couple rocking across the room. She moaned and closed her eyes.

No cheating, my lady. “Look at them.” Seeing her gaze return to the couple, he gently pressed his swollen manhood against her and rocked in matching rhythm, his free hand slowly easing toward the apex of her thighs. He gently latched onto her neck as he had earlier. She groaned and arched her back, her arse pressing into him. Oh, aye. Better, my lady, much better.

Needing to stroke flesh on flesh, he captured her lips with his. With the flick of a finger at the top of her gown, the fabric slid from her shoulder and the glorious weight of her naked breast slid into his hand. She gasped.

“Shhh, no one can see.”

He gently tugged on her nipple—-large and cinnamon he was pleased to note--as his tongue delved into the delicious warmth of her mouth. Hearing her sigh, he slowly gathered up her skirt and slipped a hand beneath the hem. Her breath caught and her flesh quivered as his hand glided over her thigh.

Halfway to his goal her hand latched on to his wrist and stayed his hand. He looked into her eyes. “‘Tis naught to fear, Katie, I’ll not harm ye.”

Although heat radiated off of her like a fired kiln, although she panted and her cornflower eyes were dark cobalt and unfocused, she still appeared unconvinced. He caught her lower lip and stroked it with his tongue. When she licked back, he almost grinned. Aye, he had her full attention again. He hand slid higher, but she stayed him again. He sighed and letting her skirt fall, settled for splaying his fingers over her covered belly, where he began to gently massage in slow, easy circles. He pulled his lips from her and whispered into her ear, “See how he strokes her with his hand between her thighs?”

“Ah...”

“Look at them, Katie. Can ye imagine what she’s feeling as he strokes and slides within her?”

Kate, breathless, barely had time to nod before Ian MacKay’s lips again captured hers. Oh. Oh. She felt afire, and God help her she did not want his touches and kisses to stop, but surely they must, he must, someone had to stop. This couldn’t go on. Surely she’d combust like a pyre.

His kiss deepened taking the last of her breath away. As his tongue swept across the confines of her mouth, her heart stuttered. His tongue then slid deep, retreated then plunged in again, much as the man did into the woman before her. Her knees gave out.

And apparently she was not alone with this feeling. Ian’s breathing was every bit as ragged as hers. The heat coming off him in heady musk-scented waves made her head spin. Who knew a man could smell so truly delectable or do such incredible things with his hands? His thighs, as hard and thick as the timbers above them, felt delicious as they slid against her. And his staff as it slid tauntingly against her bottom in slow, steady strokes...ahh.

She wanted him over her, in her, all about her. But why was he doing this? She was not so lithe and svelte that she should induce such lust. Nor did he love her. So what was the point? Aye.

Despite her grasp on his wrist, Kate felt his fingers brush where the worst heat sat. Once, twice, his fingers swept ever so lightly past, and then a third. His hand then stilled, and he lifted his mouth from hers. When he looked into her eyes, she groaned, couldn’t help it, seeing the fire burning within. Of their own volition her hips flexed forward, giving him better access if he would but take it.

And God help her, she did want this extraordinary man to take it.

She released his wrist and reached for his nape, drawing his mouth to hers.

Ian growled deep in his throat as Kate’s lips parted. Aye, lass, now ye ken. No thought, just feel, imagine flesh on flesh, heat and sweat. He closed his mouth over hers and he pressed two fingers at her apex, knowing that beneath her skirts her passage was slick, ready, her sensitive nub swollen and taut. God, he loved a naturally lusty widow. He gently stroked. She, in turn, groaned into his mouth.

Aye, and now to send her spiraling off the side of the earth.

He increased the pressure ever so slightly. Her fingers dug into his neck. In response he delved just a wee bit farther, slipping as close as possible to her moist cavern. His staff ached, throbbed, as she panted and ground her hurdies against him with increasing urgency .

Come on, lass, ye are nearly there. Come.

He felt her back start to arch. Her thighs and buttocks tightened against him. Her panting escalated. Ah, here we go.

Despite the painful need to push his kilt aside, lift the back of her skirt and thrust into her from behind, he continued to merely stroke her, take what pleasure he could from the feel of her response. His time would come, but later.

Kate went rigid in his arms, a high keen carrying his name, escaping through lovely, very puffed lips.

Gratified, he smiled.

He turned her in his arms, her face to his, and held her. While he waited for her breathing and pulse to slow he scanned the room. None stirred save the couple they had been watching, who were now panting and grinding for all they were worth. Humph. Lennox really did need to work on his touch.

After a while her hand slid over the plains of his chest. “Your heart beats so hard.”

Had her husband’s not? Not knowing why the thought disturbed him, he kissed the top of her head and reached for her wrist. He brushed his kilt aside and placed her hand on his swollen staff.

“Oh my!”

Pleased, he whispered, “Katie, ‘tis what ye’ve done to me.”

Her fingers wrapped around him in tentative fashion then slid up. Groaning, he closed his fingers over her hand and squeezed.

God, if she so much as breathes I’ll shoot the full quiver into her hand.

“Is this nor--?”

“Shhh.” He took a steadying breath and eased her hand back onto his chest. “Ye now ken what my hands can do. I want ye now to think on how I might feel within ye.” He brought her hand to his lips and licked her palm. He then lifted her bodice and covered her delightful breasts. Seeing that the couple they’d been watching had collapsed into blissful slumber, seeing that Kate was put back together properly, that her legs were again steady, he turned her about and pushed wide the door. He whispered, “Sweet dreams,” and patted her lovely arse, sending her into the hall.

He kept watch until she found a corner to herself and settled. He then closed the door.

With his balls aching to the point of nearly making him blind, Ian slowly climbed the stair back to his room. He hoped she would fall into the satiated sleep, but if not, that she’d at least think on what he’d intimated rather than on what awaited her at the tribunal.

He sure as hell would.

~#~

Alistair collapsed against his mount’s stall, the only place he had been able to find within Stirling Castle’s crowded walls that would provide both warmth and privacy.

“God’s teeth! This can’t be happening. Not again.”

Even in death that cretin half brother of his was trying to reach out for what should have been Alistair’s by birth.

For thirty years he’d bided his time, accepting whatever small boons his miserable father had deemed to hand down to him, whilst watching Robbie collect his gifts, hand over fist. And all because he-—the first son--had been born on the wrong side of the damn blanket.

But Alistair was laird now. With Robbie dead and his father imprisoned—-and he had no intention of ransoming the bastard prior to his dying—-Alistair finally had all he’d ever craved. Authority and Ardkinglas. But for how long?

Could he commit cold-blooded murder? He’d killed in battle, but never with deliberate and callous forethought.

He blew through clenched teeth. He would have to or see all that he now held dear slip through his fingers. Would the court side with him? There was no telling in the current political climate. He’d made allegiances with the Donald. But would that be enough?

What if the tart produced proof of her marriage to Robbie? Custom dictated he offer her shelter, but he fully intended to claim that she, a foreigner , posed a real threat to Ardkinglas’s security. If the court finds that she does own a third of Robbie’s property, his back would be put to the wall. He hadn’t the coins for a protracted legal battle much less to buy her portion of the inheritance he and the witch shared. Had he the coins, he would have thrown them in her face and been done with her. “Humph!”

What method of disposal would be the least bloody? The least likely to point toward him? Poison immediately came to mind.