No Other Woman (No Other Series) (12 page)

He sought vengeance.

And still, he didn't understand. Terrible things had happened, aye, but no MacGinnis could be capable of murder.

"You're asking me to believe that my own flesh and blood are trying to kill me. I can't believe you. Let me go, David. My God, David, think about it! It is absurd that my kin would want to harm me, why should I believe you—"

"Because I, at least, intend to keep you alive."

"Why? To use me, nothing more. While you tell me that the family I've lived among my whole life are all out to do away with me."

"I didn't suggest that every MacGinnis is trying to kill you."

"Then—"

"One of them is."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

She wrenched away from him, hugging her arms around her chest as she walked to the window, keeping her back to him. "Why are you so certain that someone in my family is guilty?"

"Shawna, who else has power here?"

She spun around. "You. You walk through walls. Your brother. He plans a trip here, and suddenly strange men are appearing out of stone and trying to cut me down."

"My brother isn't here yet."

"You are in this room—when there is no possible way that you can be here!"

"Obviously, it's possible."

"Why—why are you here again?"

"To protect you—understand that. I will protect you. God knows, there might well be some link between the danger threatening you now and what happened five years ago. Accept the fact, my lady, that I will be with you, protecting you, despite the fact that you seem not to appreciate my efforts."

"It seems you're the only one I need protection from when I'm in this room."

"I threaten you?" he queried softly, and she realized that he had silently come to stand behind her. His hands fell upon her bare shoulders, and his soft, husky voice burned her earlobes. "You, my lady, are the dangerous one. One way or the other, you were the first to solicit my affections. Remember? And you have certainly weathered them without ill effect."

She .braced against his hold. "Oh, you have no idea of the consequences—"

He spun her around, his hold upon her firm as he told her, "But I do know the consequences of seeking heaven with you."

Shawna gritted her teeth, trying valiantly to struggle from the tight hold he had upon her. "Oh! Yet last night you seemed ready to dare it again. What incredible courage."

"Ah, my lady, I weigh all risks."

"If you think—"

"I think that someone made a very great effort to kill me. I don't know why someone attempted my murder, nor do I know exactly why I'm alive. I'm equally certain that someone is determined to kill you. I know every secret passage, tunnel, stairway, nook, and cranny in this castle—it is, as you will recall,
my
birthright. So I think that I will come and go from this room as I please, and I think that, under the circumstances, you should do your damned best to accommodate me in any way possible."

"Accommodate you!" Shawna gasped.

"Ah, my lady!" he teased in mock horror, eyes raking over her. "It may not be such a wretched thing. Indeed, it did seem that you enjoyed my presence when last we met. You may discover what revenge I would take against you to be sweet indeed."

"Let go; you are brutal—"

"Ruthless," he corrected. And again his eyes swept her in a way that seemed to create an inferno within him. "And very, very determined."

"Determined on vengeance?"

"On truth," he said softly. A curious light touched his eyes, and his tone was even huskier. "And, aye, vengeance. Naturally, I will take all that vengeance at my leisure."

He still held her tightly. Perhaps he heard the thunder of her heart, felt the way she trembled. She struggled fiercely against his hold, advising him furiously, "Go to the authorities. Go to the queen! Take back your birthright—"

He shook her hard, once, to still her. Her eyes met his. She was aware that he did not tease now, that his green eyes were sharp and his handsome features were rigid. "If I go to the authorities, Shawna MacGinnis, I will seek out the very best solicitor in the country and I will accuse the entire MacGinnis clan of attempted murder, and since the very fact that I am alive stands well for evidence in my favor, it is likely a good portion of your family will hang. Not to mention the fact that you were quite definitely part and parcel of the conspiracy."

Determined to respond with dignity rather than the bursts of fear and fury that so easily ruled her when he was near, she tried to pull free from his hold; he let her go. She faced him from just a few feet away. "So come and go as you please, Laird David Douglas. Slip in and out of the room—and I shall do my best not to perish from the shock of your sudden appearances before we've come to the end of this quest. Just keep your distance, Laird Douglas, and I'll argue this no more. We'll find out what truly happened in the past, and what is happening now."

"Aye, lass, I'll keep my distance. You keep yours."

"I don't keep slipping through your window and crawling atop you in bed."

"Ah, but you did teach me that it was the way to reach someone privately in the night."

It would always come back to that. And Shawna was dismayed to realize that the very strength of her fury against him made her want to touch him. She wanted to pound against him, and then...

Feel him. She was on fire. So very angry, yet so very much alive and wanting.

She carefully backed away from him again. "Would you like a pillow and blanket for a place before the hearth?"

"No. Would you?"

She caught her breath. "Surely, you don't mean to sleep—in the bed?"

"We've agreed it is mine," he reminded her politely.

Damn him.

"I will sleep before the hearth," she heard herself say.

"Go ahead then, my lady. Whatever pleases you."

She plucked her pillow from the bed and dragged off the quilted coverlet. She did her best to make herself comfortable in the chair before the fire.

David cast off his cape and boots, and lay down upon the bed.

"Good night," he said pleasantly.

"Go to hell."

He ignored her, stretching out comfortably.

She could scarcely believe it.

Seconds of night ticked away. His eyes were closed. He seemed comfortable, and at ease.

She was wretched in the chair.

But he did sleep, so it seemed. She was unbelievably uncomfortable. Surely, it would have been better to attempt to sleep with him near her on the bed. Nay... that would have been even more wretched!

She threw her pillow and coverlet upon the floor before the hearth, and tried to curl up there. The stone was cold. She watched the fire, and prayed for sleep.

* * *

He didn't sleep; not so easily.

He remained very still as the night passed, determined that she would think him quite naturally at rest. When she finished fidgeting in the chair and curled down upon the floor, he continued to remain still for a long time.

Then he halfway sat up, eyeing her prone form. This was a strange anguish when the temptation was to swear impatiently, wrench her up, and pull her into the warmth and softness of the bed with him.

And then...

It would be a far better thing for him were she not to realize that he found her quite so tantalizing.

Wanting her had indeed, once upon a time, sent him into all the blazes and tortures of pure hell.

David lay back down upon his pillow, closing his eyes tightly. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his temple, as if he could squeeze away the pressure building in his head.

God, he had lived that night over and over again in the years that had followed it!

He could see her every time just as she had come to him that night. Through the secret stairway. And she had stood, framed by the moonlight, whispering his name.

"David..."

And he had agreed to meet her at the stables.

He closed his eyes, wishing that he could not always remember with such startling clarity so much that had taken place that night.

But he could always remember.

Every word.

Every whisper and movement.

Going to the stables. Drinking the wine, changing glasses with her.

Their argument. Over Alastair.

"Must you be so hypocritical?" he had demanded.

"Must you be so hateful?" she had returned.

And he had tried to walk away. In all honesty, he had tried to walk away. But she had called him back. "I do—I do intend to show you... something... give you all that is offered..."

The sensations became overwhelming. She was in his arms; he had her lips, and then he had her down upon the poor bed in the stables, and she'd been all that mattered. He'd known he was drugged, but the very essence of the drug had kept him from caring.

How curious now that he could still remember every little nuance of that night. Remember, see her, feel her...

She twisted beneath him as he kissed her, discovering that he couldn't know her lips enough. Her gown inched up. He dragged it farther, his hands caressing her naked hip and thigh with growing passion and demand. His robe parted. He kissed her throat. She whispered; words he didn't understand. He slipped her gown from her shoulder, her breast. He fastened his mouth upon her nipple, laving the hardening peak again and again with his tongue. She gasped and shuddered, fingers ripping into his arms. He thrust her gown far above her hips and abdomen, buried his face against the soft, vulnerable flesh there, delved his fingers into the raven black triangle of hair until he touched her with unbearable intimacy. Shudders ripped the length of her, words escaped her, words, having no sense and no reason.

"... just show you..." she gasped.

The flesh of her belly was unbelievably soft, silken fascination. He moved his lips upon it, traveled, delved. The brush of his fingers became bold, demanding, intimate, that of his lips even more so. She filled him, she was every breath, every caress, every beat of his heart, sweet, fragrant, musky. She twisted, writhed; words ceased to come from her. He heard her frantic intake of breath, felt her fingers digging into his shoulders and hair. She cried out, her body as rigid as steel, and the honey of her seemed to fill him again with intoxicating sensation. He rose over her, knees parting her thighs. She didn't open her eyes; her face was pale and beautiful. He groaned with a shudder that seemed to rise from him with volcanic volatility, enwrapped her, thrust himself fully, deeply within her.

The sound that escaped her was a breath, no more. He looked into her face again. Her eyes were opened, glazed.

"Shawna..."

Her name from his lips was pained; what was done he had not intended.

What was done he could not have avoided. And even now he didn't seem to be in his right senses because what had been done did not matter. He wanted her. Could not withdraw from her, had to have her. Again, sensation was painfully acute, desire was desperate. In a distant corner of his mind, he was angry with himself; he was a man, not an animal with no reason or logic. Anger didn't matter, what pain he might have caused her didn't matter. She twisted; he held taut. She cried out suddenly, her arms coming around him, her face pressed against his shoulder. Pain had stunned her; he could not have withdrawn, yet she was suddenly the aggressor, clinging to him. Crimson light and fury seemed to fill him; he moved with desperate energy against her, sheathed, filled, urgent, reveling in every movement, wanting more and more. Climax built wildly within him, spiraled. He was vaguely aware of the rough wool blanket beneath them. The world still smelled sweetly of new-mown hay, more sweetly still of flowers and the woman and the musk of their bedding.

Her face remained buried against him. He caught her hair, forced her to meet his eyes. Hers remained blue and glistening with unshed tears. He found the sweetness of her mouth once again, forcing her lips to part to his. And they did, and she met the hunger of his kiss with a thirst of her own, hesitantly at first, then more fully, until he thought that he would drown in the seduction of her. Then the force of the climax that had been building within him burst wildly upon him; muscles constricted and taut, he held above her and within her as wave after wave of release seized him, shook him, spilled from him, and into her. As he stared down at her then, he was dimly aware that Shawna had never intended for her game to go so far.

He started to brush her face with his knuckles, to tell her that if her bargain was marriage, then so be it. She was far too anguished, he thought, and he was far too proud to tell her that she had just aroused and seduced him like no other woman. Such admissions with a lass like Shawna could be far too costly for a man in his position at this time. She was still a MacGinnis, lady of the Craig Rock MacGinnises, and dangerous in that holding.

Her eyes closed. Her body glistened in lamplit crimson beauty.

Sated, soaked, both satisfied and aware he'd be wanting far more, he opened his mouth to speak.

No words came from him.

Just the pain. An ungodly pain within his head.

He saw red...

He touched his hand to his temple, and it came away covered with blood.

The color before him turned to black...

The world began spinning into deeper and deeper shades of crimson and black before him.

Yellow, gold, orange, blue...

Fire.

There was fire. He didn't know if he felt the searing pain at his head and then the fire immediately, or if there had been time between the two. He felt the heat of the fire and he struggled to clear his mind....

Black again. Ebony. A void...

Death...?

Aye, death, it was what someone had intended, and in a way, he was indeed to die that night.

Aye, it was death, and the coming of it slow and miserable. He tossed. He felt pain; he felt nothing. Terrible cold, burning heat. Darkness...

No, color again. Color... blue, the sky, the sky at morning. The sun was in his eyes, causing his head to burst with pain once again.

He could hear the lap of water. He was on a boat, he realized. Out in the loch?