Highlanders (105 page)

Kieran covered her mouth with his as he shifted, then began a slow glide of his shaft through her curls and along her belly. Phoebe sucked in a breath and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. He gave another slow thrust of his shaft, this time caressing the tip of the throbbing point between her legs. Phoebe startled at the pleasure that radiated through her. Feather light, one hand skimmed along her arm, over her shoulder, then covered her breast. Kneading the breast, he broke the kiss and slid his mouth along her cheek, down her neck to the other breast. An instant later, he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

She was slowly going insane.

He reached between their bodies and Phoebe gasped when his warm finger stroked her heated sex. He flicked his tongue on her nipple as his finger teased, stroked, urged her to want more…to want him. She gripped his shoulders in an effort to halt the whirl of sensations, but the feel of steel beneath her fingers compelled her to pull him closer instead.

The stroking ceased and she realized he was fitting his shaft to the entrance of her channel. Her stomach did a somersault. This was as far as she and Brandon had gotten—though the journey had been nothing like this. She hadn't lost her mind with Brandon. The tip of Kiernan's penis eased into her. Phoebe tensed.

"Easy, love," he whispered. "We have all night."

She flushed. He had guessed the truth? But how?

He inched deeper. She held her breath as his girth stretched her. This was strange. He reached between them and began stroking her again, this time with more fervor. She clamped her legs around his hips.

"That's it," he coaxed, and massaged her faster.

Her mind confused the sensation with his deeper penetration. He had stopped, hadn't he? Need rose on a tide and she remembered this same feeling from the night he'd given her pleasure. God forgive her, she wanted that now. He began flicking her sensitive nub. She lifted her hips and in the next instant he shoved into her hilt deep. A split second of tearing pain, then he lay on her unmoving.

She waited, suddenly lucid and uncertain. Did a wife tell her husband to get himself off her when he had just taken her virginity?

His chest rose then fell with a deep breath…and he kissed her. Warmth began a slow spread through her. He grasped her hands, raised them over her head and threaded his fingers with hers. Then he began moving inside her. This was nothing like a moment ago. He slid effortlessly in and out of her slick channel. Her heart rate kicked up. His hips rocked against her with each slow stroke of his rod along her walls. Phoebe laced her fingers more tightly with his. He thrust faster, harder. She drew a shaky breath. Pleasure tickled at the edges of consciousness. She clamped her legs around his hips and startled at the sensations that radiated through her. Tentatively, she lifted her hips to meet his surge. The tip of his penis seemed to crash into the back of her wall.

He groaned and crushed her deeper into the mattress with a fierce thrust. A mixture of pleasure and pain shot through her. His hips slammed into her with each powerful plunge deeper. Kiernan abruptly shifted and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Blinding pleasure surged through Phoebe. She squeezed her eyes shut. A bright white light blurred her vision behind her eyelids. Her muscles tightened around Kiernan in climax. A hoarse groan rumbled through his chest and he ground himself against her. He released her fingers and slid his arms around her, squeezing so that she could scarce catch her breath. But the discomfort was flooded by the ripples of aftershock that radiated through her body. He pounded into her, then gave a final thrust that seemed to reach clear to her core.

"Phoebe."

The hoarse whisper sent a strange ripple of emotion through her as the pleasure subsided on smaller then smaller waves. He thrust again, slowly. Phoebe wrapped her arms around his shoulders in the last seconds as he moved inside her then finally relaxed.

They lay unmoving for a long moment, their bodies slicked with sweat, then Kiernan slid from her. Cool air washed over her heated flesh. He pulled the blanket up over them, then tugged her backside against him. Phoebe blinked at the stars that winked in the night sky through the window, then closed her eyes.

Phoebe awoke chilled. She glanced around the darkened room, her eyes unfocused. She shivered and tugged the bedcovers up over her shoulders—then remembered. By heavens, she had let her husband bed her in a brothel. Worse, she'd liked it.

A faint noise sounded. She shifted her gaze to the left where a sliver of light shone beneath a door she thought opened to a closet. Did the door connect to another room? She threw back the covers and grimaced when cool air rolled across her naked body. Phoebe pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapped it around her, and crept to the door. She placed her ear against the wood but heard nothing, so lowered herself onto her knees and looked under the door. Another door was visible fifteen feet away. A closet connected another room, she realized, and the opposite door was open.

Phoebe stood and slowly turned the knob. The door clicked open, and she waited for any sounds of alert, but silence followed. Carefully, she inched opened the door and the murmur of Kiernan's voice reached her. She strained to make out his words, but his voice was pitched too low. She tiptoed across the floor to the door and peeked through the crack. Her view included an armoire beside a window. She eased closer to the door and cocked her ear as close to the opening as possible.

Kiernan quieted, another voice murmured something, then Kiernan said, “What better way to catch a traitor?”

“We should go,” the man said.

Kiernan sighed. “I had more pleasant plans for the morning, but if we hurry, I may make it back before my wife wakes. Give me a moment."

Phoebe's pulse jumped. Footsteps approached the door. She sprinted for the opposite door and reached it in two leaps, carefully shut it, and ran the last few paces to the bed. She threw the blanket over her as she turned toward the wall. A moment later, the door softly clicked and the soft pad of feet neared, then stopped. Phoebe forced even breathing as if asleep, and he left. She waited another moment, then sprang from the bed and dressed.

Moonlight shone through fast moving clouds, illuminating the two men's tracks in the moist ground. Not that Phoebe had to track them. In the distance, they walked down the main street, their great coats fanned out around them like bat wings. She hugged her cloak tighter, keeping a hand pressed against the pistol in her pocket, and hurried through the shadows cast by the shops that lined the deserted street.

The men took a right turn down a narrow lane. She rushed to the edge of the building and peeked around the corner. When they were far enough ahead, she hugged the wall and followed. They wound their way through the streets for another fifteen minutes as the tang of salt air intensified.

They walked another ten minutes and she grew concerned. Sunrise was but an hour away. Minutes later, the distinct caw of the sea’s scavenger birds broke the nightly silence.

Kiernan and his companion slowed and Phoebe halted at the nearest cottage and pressed close to the building. The men angled toward a house and she watched as they reached the door and knocked. The door opened and dim light splashed out into the darkness. They stepped inside and the door closed.

When Phoebe reached the cottage, she made a quick inspection that revealed no open windows. She glanced up at the sky and prayed she didn't have long to wait.

Light fingered across the dark sky in gray streaks. Another quarter of an hour and the sun would peak over the horizon. A door clicked open and Phoebe crept from the side of the cottage to the rear. A low murmur of voices was followed by the light crunch of boots on the rocky terrain. Their footsteps began to fade and she hurried to the edge of the cottage and peered around the corner. Four figures silhouetted by the gray dawn passed along the lane.

Minutes later, the sun's rim edged up the sky. Shops had replaced cottages, and sailors and merchants milled about the street. Phoebe kept the hood of her cloak around her face while walking on the opposite side of the street a safe distance behind the men. The man who had accompanied Kiernan from Madam Duvall's was with him, along with Mather, but the third man was a stranger.

The street veered to the right and Phoebe slowed as she rounded the corner. A bay jutted inland and several ships stood docked in the water. The men rounded a shop and disappeared from view. She slowed in front of the shop and gazed in the window at the nautical almanacs and supplies displayed in the window. Two men appeared from around the building and she waited until they passed before continuing to the building edge. At the end of that lane, past several buildings, a single ship bobbed at the dock. The lane was empty except for Kiernan and two of companions—Mather was gone—and they stood near the gangplank.

The stranger to Kiernan's right clapped him on the back as a sailor appeared on deck and called to them from the ship. The stranger raised a hand in salute, turning so that she glimpsed his profile. The sailor waved back then disappeared below. Phoebe stared at the man, whose back was once again facing her. There was something—

“Are ye lost, lass?” a deep voice rumbled.

Phoebe turned toward the speaker. A large Highlander stood beside her, a revolver shoved into one side of his belt, and pistol in the other.

“Oh, no.”  She smiled. “I am just wondering who that man is. He looks familiar. Do you know him?” She motioned toward the stranger.

The Highlander glanced at them. “Which one? I know them all.”

“Who are they?”

"A lady doesn't ask about strange men," he said.

"A lady can ask about her husband's associates," she replied.

He gave her a curious look, then said, “The one standing to your husband's left is David MacKenzie.”

She scowled. "How do you know which man is my husband?"

He raised a brow. “I know David's wife. The other,” he motioned to the man with his back to them, “is fifty-seven years old."

"Men his age marry," she said. “What is his name?"

"Clachair."

“Clachair?” She jerked her gaze onto him and, as if finally realizing she was there, Kiernan looked in her direction.

Clachair turned, and Phoebe stared into eyes identical to those belonging to the man in the portrait that hung over the salon fireplace in her uncle's London home: her father's eyes. Recognition registered on his face, and her surroundings swam around her in a swirl of black. Iron fingers closed around her arm. Phoebe snapped from the faint and nearly tripped when the man pulled her toward Kiernan and Clachair, who were now walking in her direction. Her legs felt like jelly and she suddenly didn't want to talk to either of them—ever. A strange sense of panic welled up and she yanked in an effort to free herself from the man.

"
Sir
." She yanked harder.

A shot rang out, whizzing past them from the street behind them. The man shoved her to the ground and yanked the revolver from his belt. She started to scramble up.

“Androu!” Kiernan shouted. “Get her out of here."

Phoebe twisted in an effort to look in Kiernan's direction, but Androu swept her into a bear hug and in three long steps, reached the gag between the nearest building, and dropped her onto her feet. She pulled the pistol from her cloak.

Androu glanced back. “By the Saints, are ye daft, woman?” He knocked the weapon from her hand with a heavy-handed swipe.

She cried out as the pistol sailed into the lane.  "You fool! Hand over your revolver."

His brows snapped down in a frown. "I'm not of a mind to be shot by a woman."

Another gun report sounded. A woman screamed.

Androu's head whipped around and he peered past the building toward the ship. "Run, MacGregor," he shouted, and fired.

Phoebe hugged the opposite building and peered out toward the ship. She caught sight of Kiernan an instant before he lunged into their alley. Another shot blasted, this time, from the direction of the ship, and Androu fired back.

Kiernan seized Phoebe's shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“What in God’s name are you doing here? Never mind. In the future, I’ll entertain guests someplace other than a room next to our bedchamber.”

“Kiernan.” Phoebe gasped his lapel. “That man—Clachair—is my father.”

Kiernan’s expression softened. “I know. I meant to tell you, but," he flashed a lopsided grin, "you distracted me.  That's why I'm here. I had to tell your father I'd married you.”

Tears threatened again. “What?”

“Stay back!" Androu shouted, then, "There the bloody bastards are!” He fired again.

Kiernan gave her a hard shake. "Do not move, Lady Ashlund, or I swear by God Almighty, I'll spank your bare arse in the town square." He released her and pulled the revolver from his waistband as he sidled up to the building's edge and peered into the lane. “Your handiwork?" he said to Androu."

"Aye, got him through the heart."

"Damn good shot. No sign of the others. How many did you count?”

"Two, maybe three. They made MacDougal's place, nearest the ship.”

“Clachair," Kiernan shouted, "Stay down.”

“Has Clach—my father—no weapon?” Phoebe demanded.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Kiernan's attention remained on the street. “He’s a man of peace, Phoebe.”

A tremor shook her. “I always knew he was a peaceful man. No such man could be a traitor.”

Kiernan's gaze shifted onto her. "I believe we discussed this last night."

She felt her eyes widen and he lifted a brow in confirmation of her thoughts: her father was the Clachair wanted by the Crown because, like Kiernan, he was aiding criminals. He was, indeed, a traitor.

Her jaw tightened, then she whirled on Androu. “Give me your spare pistol.”

He cast a shocked look at Kiernan.

“Do as she says,” Kiernan instructed.

Androu looked dubious, but pulled the pistol from his waistband and extended it butt first.

She looked at the pistol. “Had you not knocked my Blanch pistol from my grasp, I would not have to make do with this archaic piece of machinery.”

Androu looked offended. “‘Tis a respectable Scottish pistol.”

“Flintlock,” Phoebe muttered. "Care to trade the Pepperbox for this pistol?”

His eyes narrowed, then he swung his gaze onto Kiernan. “I’ll go find the bastards for you.”

Kiernan shook his head. "I must ask that you do something far more important.”

Understanding struck like lightning and Phoebe began backing up.

“Stay where you are, Phoebe, or that spanking will be forthcoming,” Kiernan said without taking his eyes off of Androu, and she halted when he added, "She's my wife, Androu."

Something in the way he said 'my wife' sent a tremor through her stomach.

"Aye," Androu replied, and Kiernan faced her.

“He’s my father,” she pleaded.

Kiernan stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. “And he’s my friend, for many years.”

"Years?" she repeated.

"Yes, love, years. Now trust me.” He flashed the all-too-familiar grin, and added, “After all, you're my wife—spy and all." He cut off her gasp with a hard kiss, then shoved her into Androu's arms. "Whatever you do, Androu, don't let her out of your sight. She's a very clever woman. Sit on her, if necessary.”

"MacGregor," she shouted, but Androu hefted her up like a sack of potatoes and raced down the tiny alley.

Kiernan glanced back at her, then looked both ways down the lane and disappeared, headed toward the ship.

"Release me," Phoebe ordered, and jammed the pistol into Androu's side. "Or I'll shoot."

He halted at the edge of the building. “No you won't. Unless you wish to explain to your husband that you shot his cousin’s husband.”

Phoebe ceased pacing and whirled when the door of the general store creaked open. The crowd that had gathered in the shop fell silent. Phoebe looked past them, past Androu, who sat in the front of the shop, gaze steady on the door, to see another villager enter the store. Androu didn't look back at her, but rose, and moved to the window. He leaned against the wall and stared outside.

Phoebe joined him. “Why haven’t they returned? It's been over an hour.”

He straightened from the wall. “Perhaps we’ll find out now.”

Phoebe looked out the window and recognized the man approaching as one of the men Androu had sent to help Kiernan.

“Don't leave this spot,” Androu ordered, and headed for the door.

Phoebe watched through the window as the man stepped up on to the boardwalk and began talking with Androu. The man waved his arms in heated conversation and Androu glanced back in her direction. The man grew still as Androu spoke. The man spoke again, and Androu cast a quick glance in her direction. A moment later, the man turned and hurried down the street, and Androu entered the shop.

“The bast—er, criminal has taken to the forest and MacGregor has gone for him," he said. "Murphy is gathering more men for the hunt.”

Phoebe cast an anxious glance at the darkening clouds.

“Your husband will be all right, lass.”