Highland Belle (7 page)

Brigette giggled, then asked, If the MacArthurs were once clan chiefs, why are they not now?

We are the original stock of the mighty clan Campbell, Iain answered. Ye might say the Duke of Argylls ancestors were my ancestors puir relations. John MacArthur, a verra great mon and the leader of a thousand warriors, was the clan chief durin the reign of James the first. Although John was the kings mon and lived his life accordin to the MacArthur motto, Faithful in Action, he was much too powerful to suit the jealous King James.

What happened?

The king ordered him beheaded, and the chieftainship of the clan passed to the Campbell side of the family.

Sitting so close that their bodies touched, Brigette turned her head to look at him. Without forethought, she pressed a light kiss on his cheek.

Iain stared into incredible eyes of green, which glowed with love for him. Through an emotion-constricted throat, he vowed, I love ye, lass. His lips covered hers, pouring all the love his heart contained into that single, stirring kiss. Like a flower opening to the radiant sun and basking in its warmth, Brigette returned the kiss in kind, and then some.

They fell back to the rug. Iain sprinkled kisses upon Brigettes eyelids, temples, nose, and throat. With his lips hovering above hers, he whispered, Open yer eyes, sweet. When she obeyed, he asked, Can ye return my love?

I do love you.

Gently, Iain kissed her again, then unwrapped the blanket, baring her flawless body. He smiled with tenderness when she blushed. Yer verra bonnie, my lady. Iain pulled the plaid from his own body, and his lips swooped down to capture hers.

His hands roamed freely, reveled in the silky texture of his wifes skin. He caressed her breasts, teasing their pink-tipped peaks to aroused hardness. Brigette, feeling a throbbing heat ignite between her thighs, squirmed with desire. When Iain lowered his head to her breasts, licking and nursing upon their sensitive nipples, Brigettes breath caught raggedly in her throat.

Iains hand slid lower to caress her wildly fluttering stomach, then dipped to the enticing slit between her thighs. Brigette tensed.

Relax, hinny, he whispered hoarsely, his lips returning to hers. His powerful hand with its gentle touch remained where it was, caressing the soft skin of Brigettes inner thighs. Iain stroked her tiny button, and a bolt of hot sensation burst from that tiny center of her being. Brigette trembled, nearly delirious with the pleasure of it.

Ye ken what Im goin to do? he asked huskily.

Glazed with desire, Brigettes eyes opened, and Iain was certain that at this precise moment his wife was unable to recall her own name. He kissed her deeply and at the same time positioned himself between her thighs, the scarlet knob of his manhood poised at the opening of her moist, virginal tunnel.

I love ye. He plunged deeply, breaking the maidenly barrier in one kind but powerful thrust.

Brigette cried out, and tears of surprised pain sprang from her eyes. Iains mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting as his manhood pierced. In spite of his desperate need, Iain lay motionless, allowing Brigette a moment to acquaint herself with the feel of him inside her.

My God! he marveled. The ultimate female — soft, hot, and tight! He moved then, in and out, gently and slowly. Brigettes breath came in shallow gasps, the valley between her thighs heating with each sweetly tormenting movement.

Wrap yer legs around me, he ordered. When she obeyed, his thrusts came deeper, faster, harder.

Innocence vanished and instinct emerged. Brigette arched her hips to meet each maddeningly wild thrust, building the tension that would surely kill her. She climbed a mountain of ecstasy and then peaked in screaming pleasure, floating gloriously back to earth as if riding a billowy cloud.

Calling her name, Iain tensed and shuddered, his seed flooding her. With their bodies joined as one, Iain rolled to the side and then kissed her, but Brigette was unaware. Her eyes were already closed in sated sleep.

Brigette felt something warm and moist tickling her face. Ross, dont, she said, giggling, then heard his deep rumble of laughter.

I amna the guilty party, he protested, but the tickling continued.

Her eyes flew open, and Iain laughed at her surprised expression. Sly was licking her cheek.

Ill let him out. Brigette modestly wrapped herself in the blanket, earning a mockingly arched brow from Iain, but he said nothing.

After Sly had answered natures call, Brigette returned to the fur. Iain, his dark eyes glowing with love, kissed her deeply and thoroughly. Their moment of truth had arrived.

I know a woman should not be so forward, Brigette said, giving him the perfect opening, but I wish we were wed.

We are. His voice was a light caress. Then he added, matter-of-factly, We return to Dunridge in the mornin. This raidin season promises to be especially bloody.

What? Brigette stared blankly at him.

We return to Dunridge, hinny, in the mornin.

No! We cannot go there!

We must.

Ross. Brigettes voice was a contrite whisper. Ross, I am not a Gypsy —

Iains laughter cut off her confession. Im aware of the fact ye arena a Gypsy, Lady Brigette.

You know who I am? She was flabbergasted. You know Im your brothers wife?

Ye arena my brothers wife, sweetheart.

But I am! she protested and sat up. Iain and I were wed by proxy in England —

Listen to what Im sayin, hinny, he interrupted, his voice gently insistent. I am Iain MacArthur, yer husband.

No, you are Ross MacArthur, the bastard son of the Earl of Dunridge.

I am Iain Ross MacArthur, heir to the Earl of Dunridge, he said, smiling. And yer my bonnie Sassenach bride, the future Countess of Dunridge. His hand reached to caress her cheek.

Understanding lit Brigettes eyes. She slapped his hand away and leaped to her feet, then glared at him in a murderous rage. You lying . . . scheming . . . vile . . . underhanded . . . treacherous . . . she sputtered, searching for a more hideous word to describe him.

Iain stood and towered over her, his size alone threatening. Humor had vanished from his expression; his eyes, so recently filled with love, had hardened coldly against her.

Ye dare call me schemin and lyin? Iain laughed harshly, then mimicked her lies. The daughter of the king of the Gypsies, wi hundreds of servants to do her biddin, no to mention the cookin. The Sight! He snorted derisively.

Frightened, Brigette stepped back, but Iain captured her wrist in his steely grip. We return to Dunridge in the mornin.

I wont! Brigette hurled defiantly, her stubborn streak surfacing at his imperious tone. Absolutely no one, barring the queen, spoke to a Devereux in that overbearing, arrogant tone of voice. I am returning to England, she added more calmly, her husbands size tempering her wrath. The marriage will be annulled.

Ye idiot! Iain roared. Our marriage is consummated — there can be nae annulment.

Knave! Brigette exploded. You dirty, stinking, treacherous knave! I hate you!

What little control Iain had on his temper disappeared with her words. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly, his long fingers digging brutally into her tender flesh. Ye hate me? In a dangerously low and deadly voice, he asked, Do ye know, my wee Sassenach wife, what life is like for the woman whose husband doesna care for her? Do ye?

Frightened, Brigette shook her head and Iain smiled grimly. He dragged her across the chamber, yanked the blanket from her quaking body, and shoved her onto the bed, then laughed without humor.

When a mon is tied to a woman who hates him, she becomes a brood mare, a thin for the breedin of heirs. Like this . . . Iain made a move toward her.

Please, dont hurt me, Brigette whimpered, blinded by a blur of tears.

Iain stopped short, realizing with disgust what he was about to do to the woman he loved.

Bloody Christ! he swore, then turned on his heels and left the lodge, slamming the door behind.

Angry and hurt, Brigette lay back in the bed and pulled the blanket up, covering her quivering nakedness. Rolling over to face the wall, Brigette rued the day shed first heard the name of MacArthur.

Damn every treacherous one of them to hell, Brigette cursed softly, then surrendered to her sobs. Foolishly, shed given her heart and body to Ross; but without warning, hed changed into a monster called Iain. Her sister Heather was correct. Highlanders do kill and maim for pleasure. And torment unsuspecting innocents too!

When Iain returned, he sat at the table and watched her weeping, and became filled with remorse at his cruel treatment of her. In spite of her beguiling beauty, Iain knew his wife was a child, ignorant of men. But he was a full-grown man and should have known better, should have met her misplaced anger with patience. Unfortunately, her professed hatred had rendered him irrational, and he suffered for it.

Absently, Iain reached down to stroke Sly. The fox bared his teeth and growled low in his throat, then joined his mistress on the bed.

With his anger dissipated, Iain longed to offer his wife comfort and love, but his head overruled his heart. Brigette must learn proper obedience and respect, his mind countered unyieldingly. My young wife is obligated to please me, and when she does, Ill reward her with my gentle consideration. If she doesnt? Iain refused to think about that.

For the first time since shed awakened at the lodge, Iain and Brigette passed the night separately — she sobbing in her sleep on the bed and he, sleepless, rolled in his plaid on the rug.

5

Get up.

In the swirling mists of her sleep-befuddled brain, Brigette heard the commanding voice and sought to escape it. Rolling over, she drew the coverlet over her head.

Get up, I said! Iain yanked the coverlet, and startled, she bolted up.

Except for her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, Brigette looked sensuously bedraggled, as if interrupted in a lovers tryst. Iains manhood tingled, but he ignored the powerful stirring that urged him to take her. A long day of riding lay before them. There would be many nights in their future when hed enjoy the leisure to satisfy his urges.

Brigette stared groggily at her husbands forbidding countenance, then blushed, remembering their lovemaking of the previous evening. Almost immediately, fear marred her expression as she recalled what had come after.

The oatmeal is ready, Iain said and turned away in regret, having recognized where her thoughts had wandered.

Brigette swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Retrieving her now-dry chemise, she pulled it over her head, then sat glumly at the table to eat the steaming porridge.

Ross — no, Iain — lied to me, she fumed in silence. He played me for a fool.

You lied too, an inner voice reminded her.

Ive thins to do outside, Iain said abruptly. Use this time for yer private needs. He gazed at Brigette for a long moment before leaving, but she refused to look up.

Tears of anger and despair welled up in her eyes, but Brigette fought them back. She forced herself to finish the porridge, then dressed and tidied the chamber in a futile attempt to keep her mind a blank. Brigette didnt want to think of the miserable life stretching endlessly in front of her. At seventeen years of age, she wondered dramatically, how many years of enduring my husband are left before death finally frees me from his clutches? Not only was her future bleak, but shed lost the man she loved. Ross never existed, she reminded herself. What a fool Ive been!

Iain returned and doused the still-smoldering fire in the hearth. With Sly at their heels, they stepped outside.

Yell give me nae problems along the way or Ill tie ye and throw ye across my horse like so much baggage. Ye ken? Iain threatened. Brigette nodded.

He lifted her onto the saddle and started to mount behind, but Brigettes voice stopped him. Sly cannot walk so great a distance. Please, pass him to me.

Grim, Iain looked her straight in the eye. The fox stays here.

What?

Ye heard correctly, he answered coldly. The beast remains in the wild, where he belongs.

Slys my pet!

Dinna use that shrewish tone wi me, Iain warned. Dunridge is nae place for a fox to abide. Ye had nae business makin a wild beastie yer pet.

Please, she pleaded, Sly wont survive on his own. When he ignored her and mounted, she vowed in a small voice that cracked with loss, I hate you.

So yeve said, Iain whispered harshly against her ear, pulling her tightly, painfully against his unyielding body. Yer repeatin yerself.

As they rode away from the hunting lodge, tears streaked Brigettes cheeks, and she was unable to control the sobs escaping her throat. Sly tagged along behind them, running excitedly here and there, but always returning to follow the horse.

Brigette saw Sly following them, and eventually her sobbing subsided. Every few minutes, she peeked around her husband to see how her pet was faring. What will happen to Sly when we reach Dunridge? she wondered. Can I save him? If the monster who calls himself my husband causes Slys death, Brigette vowed, Ill make his remaining years unspeakably miserable.

Each passing mile saw the fox tiring and his mistress worrying more and more. A mournful yelping suddenly rent the air and Brigette stiffened. Iain halted the horse. They looked back to see an exhausted Sly sitting a short distance away.

Hes too tired to go on, Brigette said, and Im certain he wont survive on his own.

Yes, Iain agreed. Stay here. He dismounted and drew his dagger, making Brigette gasp in horror.

If you do this, she threatened, a sob catching in her throat, I swear, at the first opportunity, Ill do the same to you.

Keep yer mouth shut or yell regret it. Purposefully, Iain walked back to the fox. With his wifes muffled sobs at his back, he approached Sly, who wagged his long, bushy tail in greeting. Instinctively submissive to his mistresss mate, the fox rolled onto his back and gazed up with doleful eyes.

Iain glanced at Brigette, whose shoulders shook with grief, and then down at her pet. He sheathed his dagger and lifted Sly into his arms, pausing for the briefest moment to pat the fox. Percys likely to roast me for this, he muttered to himself, then walked back to the horse and placed Sly onto Brigettes lap.