Authors: Her Highland Protector
‘Please, Niall,’ she whispered, dragging on his shoulders, moving beneath him, opening to him.
He came over her, sank into the soft cradle of her hips, felt her widen her thighs to accommodate his body. Not a surrender. Never that with Jenna. An impatient urging. A demand. One that he had no intention of denying as the blood roared in his ears with the sound of waves crashing on shore. A hard pounding rhythm in time with his heartbeat. Yet he held himself back, determined to make it as good as it could be, this first time.
He wooed her mouth, stroking the soft flesh behind her lips, tasting her tongue, exploring the hot sweet depths of her mouth before slowly retreating. To his delight, she aggressively followed his lead, scraping his tongue with her teeth and then sucking.
His shaft hardened unbearably as he surrendered to the pleasure. And then she was kissing him as if she could not get enough of his taste, his mouth, and their tongues mingled and danced for a lifetime until they had no breath left and they broke apart by mutual accord.
He moved lower, trailing kisses down her throat, the rise of her small but bounteous breasts, rising up on one hand so he could shape each velvety peak in turn with his palm and closing his lips around the tightly furled buds, teasing them with his tongue and teeth until she squirmed and gasped and cried out.
Her nails dug into his shoulders and his back. More pain to go along with the ache in his shaft—it was delicious torture.
Raising his head, he captured her demanding cries in his mouth and slid his hand down her body to her hot liquid centre.
Ready, thank the heavens. So very ready.
His shaft pulsed a demand and every part of his being wanted to pound into her, to take her and claim her.
No. No. She was... She hadn’t...
He took deep steadying breaths, clung to what little reason he had and took himself in hand, guiding his throbbing flesh against her entrance, carefully parting the slick folds.
So small. So tight.
His muscles bunched and strained to be let loose, but he held back the terrible urge to plunge deep.
Instead, he flexed his hips, a tiny movement that sent searing heat to his brain as the head of his shaft encountered the hot wet flesh that slowly gave way. Holding himself above her on his hands, he gazed into her flushed face and sensually pouting lips. Never had a woman looked more beautiful or more trusting than she did at that moment. ‘This is going to hurt,’ he managed to say through teeth gritted to hold himself back.
She bit her lip.
She was going to change her mind. He was going to have to—
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Go quick.’
Courage shone in her face. And a great feeling of tenderness swept through him, but there was no time to think about what it meant. She arched beneath him, destroying all thought, and he surged forwards into her heat, felt the pressure of tight silken flesh around his shaft and her gasp of pain. She tensed, rigid.
He’d hurt her. It was a stab to his heart. ‘I am sorry.’ He started to withdraw. ‘I should never have—’
‘No,’ she said, still clutching at the sheets. ‘It is nothing. I am all right now.’
Body shuddering with the strain of holding himself back, not touching her anywhere but at the point of their joining, he sought the truth in her face. Bravery, yes, but he had hurt her. ‘I—’
‘Really. It feels strange...but nice. Please, Niall.’
Nice.
It needed to feel better than merely nice and the plea was more than any man could handle. Slowly he pressed deeper and watched her eyes widen and her lips part on a gasp with deep satisfaction.
‘Oh, my,’ she said.
He withdrew and pressed deeper yet. Her eyes, forest-dark and glazed with desire looked up at him slumberously. She wrapped her legs about him, pulling him closer as he once more slid deeper. Unable to stop himself, he picked up the rhythm, driving harder, faster and deeper, listening to her cries and moans of pleasure, longing for the moment when he knew she was there, so he could bring them both to climax.
He was too close to the edge to wait for her.
He burrowed between them, seeking and finding the little nub high and deep above where they were joined, pressing and rubbing, feeling his vision darken, his breathing an unsteady rasp in his ears as he drove home to the hilt over and over. She cried out. Her inner muscles gripped him hard. She was there. He tightened and he broke through into brilliant light, soaring with her.
It lasted for hours and was over in seconds, the aftershock of her climax squeezing his pulsing shaft. Leaden-limbed, he collapsed. On her. On her tiny fragile body. He groaned and rolled to the side. To his blissful delight, she curled against him, breathing hard, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand splayed across his sweat-slicked chest.
What the hell had just happened? Never in his life had he felt so shattered during or after. He could scarcely move. He could barely keep his eyes open. Somehow he managed to cradle her close against him with one arm, his other hand enfolding the one on his chest and lost himself in warm peaceful darkness.
* * *
Jenna awoke with a start. An unfamiliar movement beside her. A deep sigh blowing against her ear. Niall. It all flooded back. The overwhelming desire. The pleasure. It seemed almost like a dream. But the evidence lay large and warm and sated beside her.
What did it mean for the future?
The sun was high in the sky, casting little sunbeams into the room through the windowpanes. Sparrows chirped in the eaves. A dove cooed softly. How long had they slept?
The room itself was filled with shadows growing shadows.
Lying there, staring at the ceiling, she listened to the even sound of his breathing. Should she wake him or not? Finally she risked lifting her head to look at him, asleep, a darker shadow curled partly around her, one arm across her chest. As if he would keep her safe while they slept.
What had she done? The pleasure of the flesh was why she had done it, the desire and attraction she felt for him, but what havoc had she wrought by giving way to her passion? To her sense that if she did not take this opportunity, she would always regret it?
A man with a strong sense of honour, he would offer her marriage, whether he wanted to marry her or not. Her heart squeezed. She would like nothing better. To be married to him, she realised, startled. To have his children. Here at Braemuir. A hand crept to her belly. Even now, his seed might have taken root. Because if she wasn’t mistaken, it was more than attraction that had made her take such a risk. She was falling in love.
A cold wave of fear washed through her. No. Love did not come into this. Attraction. Friendship. Liking, even. But the idea of love was too painful to contemplate. No, indeed. That she might have chosen him, had he been one of the suitors approved by her cousin, didn’t mean she loved him.
She couldn’t. One way or another she would have to let him go. And losing those you loved was far too painful to be borne.
Nor did she imagine he loved her. He was simply doing his duty and, like any man would, he had slaked his lust.
So what would she say if he asked? She wanted to say yes.
She lay back and gazed at the ceiling. But what of Braemuir? Had she abandoned her solemn promise to marry well and fulfil her father’s dream of returned wealth and glory to the name of Aleyne? Was her father looking down on the daughter who should have been a son with sorrow in his heart?
If she married Niall, the title would continue, there might even be a son, but her home, the house she’d sworn to rebuild, would crumble to dust. Her shame. Her failure. Her broken promise.
The ceiling blurred.
‘What is it,
mo gràdh
?’ Niall murmured, leaning over her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. ‘Why are you crying?’
My love?
A casual endearment, surely? She looked up into his handsome face with its new growth of beard and his worried eyes, and tried to smile.
He cursed under his breath. ‘Regrets, I suppose.’
‘No,’ she said. And that was the truth. She had no regrets about what they had done. None at all.
His lips twisted with disbelief. ‘Why else would you be crying?’ His voice sounded harsh.
Only the truth would do. ‘I was thinking about Braemuir.’
‘It is only a house, Jenna. A building.’
‘It is my home. My father’s home and his before him. I swore I would care for it.’
His lips thinned. ‘A house is not a home unless it has a heart within it.’
She stared at him blankly, annoyed by his easy dismissal. ‘You know nothing.’
‘I know that Dunross Keep was naught but empty stone walls on a hill until Selena and Ian moved in.’
She dabbed at her still-moist eyes. ‘Your brother and his wife?’
‘Aye.’ He pushed himself back to sit up against the headboard, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. ‘Many a Gilvry lost his life to the cause of getting it back. The most recent, my older brother. For what? Bricks and mortar. We were poor, practically landless and happy. Trying to get it back ruined one life for each generation. My mother can’t bring herself to speak to Ian, because she blames him for what happened to Drew.’
Never had he revealed so much about his family. ‘Do you blame your brother?’
He shook his head and looked at her, his eyes bleak. ‘I blame myself.’
A loud knocking sounded below. ‘Lady Jenna,’ a voice called. ‘Are you there?’
Her mouth dried. She looked at Niall in horror. ‘Mr Hughes.’
Niall shot out of bed.
‘Don’t let him see you,’ she said, and wished she’d bitten her tongue when she saw the hurt in his eyes. ‘Please, Niall. He was my father’s friend. And he is a vicar.’
‘Lady Jenna,’ Hughes yelled, banging again.
‘I’m coming,’ she called back. She looked at Niall. ‘Help me dress.’
Silently, brusquely, he did as she asked. He was angry, but she did not have time to smooth his ruffled feathers.
‘You’ll have to go out of the window on the other side. There’s a tree there you can use.’
He paled. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Oh, no, of course not. But you will have to stay out of sight. I have known him since I was a child. I will not lose his friendship for a little inconvenience.’
His jaw hardened. ‘So it is an inconvenience I am.’
‘That is not what I mean and you know it.’
‘You’d best tidy your hair,’ he said.
She put a hand to her head and turned to look in the glass. She looked as if she’d gone through a hedge backwards, or been well-bedded. ‘Hand me my cap.’
Somehow it had ended up draped on a bedside candlestick.
He tossed it to her and she made a quick knot of her hair with pins and tied the cap on tight. Curls escaped it all around her face, which was fiery red from embarrassment at being caught, and trying to hurry, and from the disappointment in Niall’s eyes.
‘Please, do not come down until he is gone.’
He glowered. ‘I won’t embarrass you, Jenna.’
‘Oh, Niall,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You will be more than sorry if he decides to come upstairs to find you.’ The wry twist to his lips made her feel a little better. She turned and ran downstairs, breathlessly trying to smile. ‘Mr Hughes. I am sorry to keep you waiting.’
His mouth pursed in disapproval as he glanced around the kitchen. ‘I’m very glad you came home, Jenna. I wanted you to see for yourself what was happening here. But I really think you should leave all of this work to your future husband.’
‘Mr Gilvry is being a great help.’
He did not look any happier. ‘I can’t say I approve of you spending all day with only that young man for company, Lady Jenna.’ He harrumped, then held out a note. ‘I accepted an invitation to tea for you and Mrs Hughes for tomorrow afternoon. News of your arrival has travelled quickly. Gilvry can drive you over in the gig.’
She blinked at him. ‘It was kind of you to come out of your way to tell me, but surely it could have waited until I came home for dinner?’ Heaven help her if he had arrived an hour or so earlier. She would have been ruined. ‘But I really don’t think—’
‘Drummond sub-leases your pasture for his sheep from your lessee, Mr Fraser, from the next glen.’
The leasing convolutions were hard to follow, but the resultant money should have been spent on the house. It hadn’t, for some reason only Carrick knew.
‘But still—’
‘There is a small matter of apparel, Jenna. Mrs Hughes has it in mind to alter a gown of hers to fit you. But she needs your presence. Which is why I am sent here post-haste.’
She glanced down at her cast-off gown with a smile. ‘Mrs Hughes is a gem. She thinks of everything.’
He gave her a smug smile. ‘I think so, too. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a parishioner further up the glen who is expecting my visit. A sad case, you know. Not likely to last out the year. But my visit brings him comfort.’
‘Then I am doubly grateful for you taking the time to relay the invitation.’
He bowed and left. She watched him climb in the gig and drive away.
Niall clattered down the stairs and joined her in the kitchen. ‘News?’ he asked.
‘I am invited with Mrs Hughes to take tea with a neighbour tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime I must hurry back to the vicarage to be fitted for a suitable gown.’
He raised a brow. ‘Then we are all done here for the day?’
‘Yes, I believe we are. Would you mind driving us in the gig tomorrow?’
‘You didn’t think I’d be letting you go by yourself, did you?’
‘There is no danger, surely?’
He gave her a teasing smile. ‘Nothing but the usual footpads, lame horses and gypsies.’
She laughed. ‘I hope not.’
He shook his head. ‘No, there is no danger. Not here. And hopefully not at Carrick either if Dunstan has done his duty.’
‘Then let us hurry and tidy up. Mrs Hughes is waiting.’
Chapter Fourteen
S
tubborn to a fault. The woman was impossible, even if she was amazingly sensual and passionate. Niall shifted on the hard seat of the gig and forced himself not to think about what had occurred the previous day. What? Had he thought making love to him would make her forget all about her quest for a rich husband?
Hardly. He glared between the cob’s ears at the lane winding between the heather-clad hills at the end of the glen. Why could it not be raining this afternoon? Then he would be spared the task of driving two ladies who had done nothing but share local gossip since they departed from Braemuir an hour ago.
Niall glanced over his shoulder. She looked beautiful. The borrowed forest-green gown, though modest, fitted her slim figure to perfection, and a jaunty little hat with a curling feather, while not fashionable, played to her elfin looks.
If she hadn’t decided to visit her neighbour, he would have spent the afternoon convincing her to marry him as she really should. Or, since he didn’t actually expect that she would agree to wed a man with so little to offer, convincing her to return to Carrick Castle where she would be safe.
From him.
A glen opened in front of them. A loch gleamed like polished steel, reflecting on one side the steep hills rising like a craggy spine and on the other a huge mansion, all round turrets and pointed roofs at varying levels fronted by an enormous columned portico set above a rustic lower level.
Behind him, Jenna gasped. ‘I don’t recall this house.’
‘The land went to pay off your father’s creditors,’ Mrs Hughes said. ‘Mr Drummond must have purchased it.’
‘Lord Carrick sold it?’ Jenna sounded disappointed.
‘A ninety-nine-year lease, as I understand it. The glen was always too narrow for farming. The gypsies camped here beside the stream every summer.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Jenna said. ‘There was no loch then.’ She stared at the house for a long time. ‘The house is huge. Does Mr Drummond have a large family?’
‘He is no married yet, though it is well past time,’ Mrs Hughes replied. ‘Every time he returns from Edinburgh or London we expect him to come back with a wee wifey, but he never does. Still, he is a man in the prime of his life. There is plenty of time.’
The closer they got, the bigger and more imposing the house became.
‘It is like a palace,’ Jenna said wonderingly. ‘He must be exceedingly wealthy.’
‘Aye, so I understand,’ Mrs Hughes said. ‘And generous to the poor box.’
Again Niall glanced back. He did not like the thoughtful expression on Jenna’s face. He turned back and glared at the monstrosity before them. ‘Who would need a palace here in the Highlands?’
Neither Mrs Hughes or Jenna proffered an answer.
He followed the lane around to the front entrance and drove up to yet another imposing façade at the front of the house. He brought the gig to a halt.
Before he could jump down to help the ladies out, a footman in red and gold livery, followed by a tall gentleman, hurried down to greet them. The footman took the horse’s head. The gentleman, a hawk-faced man in his late forties or early fifties, judging by the grey at his temples and scattered among his thick brown hair, held out a hand to the ladies. ‘Mrs Hughes. And you must be Lady Jenna. What a pleasure it is to meet you again.’
A puzzled look filled Jenna’s face. ‘Have we met, then, sir?’
Mr Drummond put a hand to his heart. ‘And here was me, imagining you would remember. I visited your father on business in the months before he died. He introduced us once. Such an enchanting young lady you were then. I believe you were on your way to the stables. May I say the woman far outshines the lass?’
Niall wanted to gag.
Jenna, on the other hand, flushed scarlet and her lips curved in a pleased smile. ‘I am so sorry, I do not recall. It was a long time ago.’
‘So it was, my dear. Come, take my arm and I will escort you inside.’ He turned his piercing dark eyes to Niall, taking him in with a swift judging look. ‘Your man there can take the rig around to the stables. My stableman will set him to rights.’
Niall could see Jenna preparing to set the man straight. He touched two fingers to his hat. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He gave Jenna a hard look, a warning to let it be. For once, she did as requested without arguing. And for some reason that made him grit his teeth with annoyance.
‘Come, ladies, come. Tea is waiting, but first I would like to show you around my humble abode.’ He held out his arms and the ladies placed their hands on his sleeves and he led them towards the steps to the front door.
With a last glare at the man’s back, Niall clicked his tongue and set the cob in motion. The footman stepped back and followed his master into the house.
Had he been wrong? Should he have insisted on accompanying her inside? He wasn’t dressed for afternoon tea. He ought to have known what a poor figure he cut and expected the assumption he was a servant, no matter how much it stung. At least Jenna had been prepared to speak for him. He could take some comfort in that. But not much. Not after the way she had reacted to the sight of this man’s house.
In the stable yard, a snooty head groom came out to meet him. He looked down his nose at the gig. ‘You can put it over there.’ He pointed to a shed containing a couple of plough horses and some farming equipment. Not good enough to mix with Drummond’s blood cattle, no doubt.
‘When you are done, go round to the scullery door and the maid there will give you some bread and ale.’ He walked away, back into the finely appointed stables across the other side of the yard.
‘Snob,’ Niall muttered. ‘We don’t care, do we, old girl. Those shires look like honest hardworking fellows. And I’ll no be begging my bread at any scullery door.’
There was room for the gig in amongst the ploughs and the tillers and a stable for the cob beside the magnificently matched plough horses. Beautiful beasts, they were, all glossy and well fed.
Niall brushed his horse down and fed and watered her. Now for some refreshment.
‘So, Gilvry, you come at last,’ said a voice from the gloom at the back of the shed.
Recognising the voice, Niall peered into the shadows. ‘Sean. What the devil are you doing here?’
The gypsy stalked into the light cast through the open door, though only at its very edge, his knife flickering in and around his fingers. A threat? ‘I thought I would see how you and the lady were doing. How are you doing?’
‘Well enough.’ He glared at the gypsy. ‘But I have some questions for you.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And by the way, how did you know we would be here today? We didn’t know ourselves until yesterday.’
The gypsy flashed his quick dark smile. ‘Perhaps I dreamed it.’
‘More like you overheard the visit being arranged. That seems more your style.’
Sean’s grin widened. ‘Want to know what else I heard? It will only cost you a wee bitty silver.’
Niall shook his head. ‘No thanks.’
‘Then I will tell you for free. This
gadjo
intends to wed the Lady Jenna.’
‘Don’t be daft. The man is her tenant. She’s here to take tea.’
‘But this man can offer her so much more,’ Sean said softly.
Niall stiffened, his heart sinking at the sound of the truth. ‘I suppose you have dreamed of the wedding.’
‘It is a choice. There are many choices,
gadjo
.’
The hairs on the back of Niall’s neck prickled a warning. Ah hell, what did it matter if the man spoke the truth? Jenna needed a wealthy man if she was ever to set her home to rights. He didn’t give a damn whom she chose.
Furious with the stupid ache in his chest, he glared at Sean. ‘Why don’t you choose to take yourself off?’ He gave the cob a final pat.
The gypsy’s teeth flashed white again, but this time his smile gave his face a predatory look. ‘You chose to eat bread and salt. You and Lady Jenna. At my table.’
Now he was talking in riddles. Or... ‘Are you hungry? Are you here for food?’
Sean’s expression hardened. ‘There will be no food for me at Drummond’s door. He threw my people off land where we had camped each summer for years.’
Drummond? He frowned. Again the name struck the same chord as it had when Lady Jenna had said the name yesterday. He was sure he had heard that name somewhere recently. Or had he heard it mentioned at the inn? Likely that was it.
‘Mrs Hughes’s cook put up a basket to keep starvation at bay. You are welcome to share with me,’ he said, climbing into the back of the gig. He retrieved the basket and gestured for Sean to join him.
Sean hesitated, glancing around as if checking for lurking danger. Finally he climbed up and bit into the chicken leg Niall handed him. ‘There is an important thing I will tell you,’ the gypsy said quietly. ‘You will use it as you please.’
More riddles, when what he needed was food.
* * *
‘And this is the portrait gallery.’ Mr Drummond proudly gestured at the array of gilt-framed pictures.
Jenna had never seen so many things as there were in this house. The man was clearly a collector. Of everything. Even here, where pictures lined the walls, there were statues in every corner and niche, tables cluttered with bric-a-brac and curio cabinets stuffed with china. She stopped at a picture of a fierce-looking woman in an Elizabethan ruff. ‘One of your ancestors?’
He frowned at it. ‘Not mine. I bought it at an auction. Quite terrifying, isn’t she? The gilt frame is worth a king’s ransom.’
How odd that he would have pictures of other people’s family and only care about the value of the frame. ‘The artist must be well known,’ she hazarded.
‘Quite possibly,’ he said. ‘Shall we go to the drawing room now?’
He chivvied them onwards. Another wide corridor, a winding staircase, then a footman opened one of a set of double doors. The room was huge and stunningly beautiful, and stuffed with
objets d’art
. The windows overlooked the loch.
‘What a beautiful view,’ Jenna said, glad to relieve her eyes of the clutter inside the room.
He stood beside her. ‘The second-best view from any house in all of Scotland, I am assured.’
She blinked, looking at him in question. ‘The second-best?’
He bridled as if he thought she did not believe him. ‘The architect who designed the house in the style of Horatio Walpole’s Strawberry Hill said so.’
‘What did he consider the very best?’
His face tightened a fraction. ‘The view from Braemuir.’
Her jaw dropped in surprise, but he didn’t notice, for he turned and nodded to Mrs Hughes. ‘My dear lady, would you be so good as to pour the tea while I have a private word with Lady Jenna?’
‘Oh, Mr Drummond, I really cannot...’
He threw his hands up. ‘You mistake me, my dear Mrs Hughes. I do not mean we should go away in private, but merely that we should speak quietly together.’ He held out his hand. ‘Dear Lady Jenna, stroll with me about the room.’
It was a very long room and the windows at the far end provided yet another breathtaking view, this time down the length of the glen. ‘I had the river dammed so it would fill,’ he said with satisfaction as they paused and looked out.
No wonder she had not remembered this stretch of water. ‘Mr Drummond, there is a matter of business I wished to discuss with you.’
His dark brows lifted, crinkling his high forehead. ‘And what would that be, Lady Jenna?’
‘You sub-lease Braemuir’s pasture. I wonder if you would consider leasing it directly from me when that lease comes to an end.’
He frowned. ‘My contract is with the man who leases your land from Lord Carrick and does not expire for another two years.’
‘Oh, but I thought...’
It was as Niall had said. The payments from the land were going directly to Carrick, her trustee. But if that was the case, Carrick must be paying the money to her account somewhere? It was he she would have to approach about giving her the income.
She forced a smile. ‘Then I will take the matter up with my cousin,’ she managed to say with what she hoped was cheerful calm.
Mr Drummond coughed into his hand as if distressed by the topic. ‘I am sure you know, Lady Jenna, that the small parcel of land on which this house stands will revert to Braemuir in a generation or two. In my opinion, the estate should never have been carved up in the first place.’
Her thoughts exactly. But there had been debts to pay on her father’s death. She could not help but wonder what else Carrick had been keeping from her all this while.
‘What is done is done,’ she said heavily.
‘And cannot be undone,’ Mr Drummond agreed. ‘Although perhaps that is not always the case.’
‘I cannot afford to buy back your lease. And nor do I need such a grand house when I already have Braemuir.’
‘Ah. Braemuir.’ He smiled sorrowfully and shook his head. ‘A tragedy for such a beautiful old house to be so neglected.’
‘Yes. But I will put it to rights. In time.’
‘Really.’ His eyes sharpened. ‘I doubt Murray would take it on.’
Startled, she stared at him. ‘How can you know about Mr Murray? Or what is in his mind for that matter?’
‘I am a businessman, Lady Jenna. It behooves me to know what is happening in the world. I have my methods.’
It sounded rather sordid. And unnecessary. ‘Why would you take an interest in my affairs?’
‘I lease your land. A marriage might mean it may soon be unavailable to me.’
True. ‘Well, I have not heard from Mr Murray as yet.’
‘But you will. The world has heard of your trek across the country in a gypsy cart.’
Her stomach lurched. ‘How is that possible?’ She felt heat to the roots of her hair as he gave her a sorrowful look.
‘My dear young lady, you cannot keep such things a secret.’
Sean must have betrayed them. ‘There are reasons—’
He stopped her with a look. ‘I am sure there are. And I am not so nice as to let such a small thing trouble me as others might.’
Murray would.
‘It broke your father’s heart to let part of his beloved Braemuir go. We hold the key to putting it back together.’ He put a hand to his chest. ‘Lady Jenna, I am offering marriage.’