Samantha James (17 page)

“Maura,” he said raggedly. “Maura.”

His thrusts pierced deeper. And then he was lunging, with tender fierceness. Each plunge bringing him closer to her womb. Closer to the edge. With every breath, with every heartbeat.

She made a tiny sound. Of need. Alec kissed her mouth, the arch of her throat. And then she was burning. There was fever in her veins. A blaze in her heart. And then she felt herself pitched into a void, exploding in a raw, sizzling climax.

And this time she was not alone.

Sprawled above her, Alec was still gasping for air when reality set in. His suspicions had just been confirmed.

Maura was—had been until this very day—a virgin.

He eased to his side, waiting until his pulse slowed before he rolled to his feet. Without a word, he went to the washstand and filled a small basin. His blood was still boiling hot. But not from passion. Not from desire. In its stead was a furious betrayal.

Wetting a cloth, he returned to the bedside, slipped a hand behind Maura’s left knee and tugged it up.

Her thighs tensed. She made a faint, jerky movement.

Alec’s fingers tightened ever so slightly. Wordlessly he shook his head.

The cloth touched tender woman’s flesh.

The sound she made was half strangled. His gaze immediately swung to her face. “Are you all right?” He brushed aside a tangle of dark hair from her cheek.

“Aye,” she said faintly.

Alec resumed his task, carefully wiping away the inside of her thighs—the traces of their union. His head was down. Intent. His ministrations were a stark contrast between the gentleness of his touch and the iron cast of his jaw. Maura’s face burned. Somehow this seemed far more intimate than the straining pressure of him inside her, hard and deep—as deep as he could go.

At last he rose. As if his nakedness were of absolutely no consequence, he picked up the washbasin and set it on the stand. Without breaking his stride, he continued on into her room. Still puzzling why as she grasped for the sheet, he returned and dropped the night robe draped over the screen in her room into her lap. Maura donned it, while Alec reached for his own from the armoire near the window. He turned, granting her an all-encompassing view, a scant five feet away.

Maura struggled not to look, yet in the end she
capitulated. His organ was soft now; a trace of her blood still lingered.

She sucked in a breath.

Alec smiled tightly.

He gestured toward the fireplace.

“Sit, if you please.” His tone was ever so pleasant.

Holding her breath, Maura moved to sit in the nearest wing chair.

In some faraway realm in her mind she registered his tone of utter politeness.

She soon discovered her mistake.

She eyed him warily as he moved to stand before the fireplace. Her pulse picked up its rhythm. Clothed or unclothed, she was more heart-stoppingly aware of this man than ever. Her gaze was unwittingly drawn to the wedge of dark hair on his chest, revealed by his robe. She tried to stop it—to no avail. Knowing he was naked beneath the robe was both exciting and unnerving. He made her heart leap all over again. Maura hadn’t reckoned on that. She’d thought that being with a man would banish all reserve.

When her gaze finally climbed to his face, he smiled tightly. Not until then did she realize he was keenly aware of her scrutiny. Indeed, he seemed to take a certain pleasure in it.

Her tongue came out to moisten her lips. Wicked was what he was. Wickedly attractive. Wickedly beautiful, as well, she conceded. His legs and buttocks were all muscle, the plane of his back and shoulder cleanly defined and sculpted.

“My darling Maura,” he said smoothly, “I find myself puzzled. Perhaps you can help me; indeed, you are surely the only one who can help me. It seems I’ve accomplished a highly unusual feat—that of claiming my wife’s virtue—why, not once, but twice.”

Maura quivered inside. His anger lay veiled in silk.

“Nothing to say, my love? How fortunate, then, that I recall what you said, Duchess, the night of our arrival here. You informed me that I had already seen to the plucking of the fruit—that it can be plucked only once. You—please forgive me if I do not recall your exact words—you seemed to particularly relish informing me that I needn’t feel compelled to provide you with a night of marital bliss.”

Again, that tone of polished civility. Maura winced inside. His wording, she knew, was quite accurate.

Hands linked together behind his back, his gaze—his tone—stabbed at her. “You relieved me of that particular obligation, as you put it,
Duchess. How is it, then, that a journey that began as a fetching little pirate in Ireland landed you here at Gleneden—once again in my bed—and once again, a virgin’s blood upon the sheets.”

Maura drew a shuddering breath. “Alec—”

“Am I a lucky man? Or a foolish one, taken in by my wife’s claim that I had wronged her? At least I know why she spurned my advances once we were in Scotland—she wished to hide the fact that she had never lain with me—with any man! No, she couldn’t risk being discovered!” He gave a black laugh. “Perhaps I am lucky. At least this time I remember it.”

Maura braved a glance at him. A mistake. There was a storm alight in his pale blue eyes. Only then did she realize how furious he truly was. She almost wished he would bluster and rage, instead of this frosty cold facade.

She eyed the door to the hallway. Then the door to her room.

“Don’t even think of it,” he growled.

Silently she bequeathed on him an ancient Irish curse.

“I gather you had a hand in my lapse in memory?”

Maura’s lips pressed together.

He was impatient. “I know I was drugged,
Maura. You may as well tell me how it was achieved.”

She confined her vision to her robe, smoothing the folds.

“Look at me, Irish.” His tone was almost dangerously soft. “How was it accomplished?”

She was tempted to tell him to go to the devil. Almost…but not quite. “A mix of herbs. From Toothless Nan.” Her chin climbed high. “To make you sleep.”

An unending silence. Then: “Toothless Nan? Toothless Nan?” he exploded. “What is this? Have I been spirited back to the Middle Ages?”

Maura’s eyes flashed. “Toothless Nan knows of such things—of potions and herbs! By heaven,” she said feelingly, “I should have summoned Nan instead of a physician the day my father died!” Even as she said it, darkness settled over her like a shroud. It wouldn’t have helped. Nothing could have prevented it. Nothing could have saved him. Nothing. He would have died anyway.

Claimed by the curse. Held captive by the curse.

It did not help that Alec’s mind veered in the same direction. “Your father,” he said curtly. “Is he truly dead?”

Maura was stunned. “Do you think I would lie about my father’s death?” Bitterness etched her words.

Alec walked to the end of the fireplace, then back. He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And your mother? She was not acquainted with the baron’s late wife, was she?”

“My mother was laid to rest when I was a wee one.”

“And you had never met the baron before then?”

She shook her head.

“It was just a ruse to get you into the masquerade?”

“Aye.”

“So it was no accident you sought me out.”

“You seem to have all the answers, your grace. What do you think?”

A muscle ticked in Alec’s jaw. This was not the time to challenge him.

She continued, “If you’re looking for someone to blame, your grace, you need not look any further.”

“So you lied about who you were?”

She surged upright. “I did not lie! I am Lady Maura O’Donnell. My father was the earl!”

Alec clenched his teeth. McBride, he thought. She was no longer Maura O’Donnell. She was Maura McBride.

“And Murdoch, your uncle?” he demanded.
“By heaven, he allowed you to come here alone? He abandoned you not knowing what kind of man I am? What I might do once we were alone?”

Maura thought of Murdoch, not so very far away in the next village. She cautiously decided that was best left unsaid.

He regarded her—regarded her until the silence that spun out was suffocating. “You’re hiding something,” he said softly. “What, I wonder? What role did he play in this?”

Maura couldn’t help it. Her gaze veered away, while Alec’s sharpened.

“Out with it, Irish!”

“Murdoch is not my uncle,” she said finally. She chose her words carefully. “He is…has been with my family for years.”

“He’s been with your family for years, eh? I suppose next you’ll be telling me he’s the family butler!”

Her eyes flew wide.

Alec swore. “Sweet heaven, he is, isn’t he?”

He didn’t need Maura’s affirmation to know it was true. Her features told the tale all too keenly.

“You tricked me into marriage,” he charged. “Why, Maura? Did you relish making a fool of me?”

“Think what you will, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”

Alec gave a self-mocking laugh. “Then how was it? By God, I don’t know what to believe! You deceived me, Maura. You tricked me into marriage. You’ve lied—by God, I cannot begin to guess how much. Why me, Duchess? Why did you purposely seek me out that night? I’m entitled to an explanation.”

Maura looked away. Rather, she tried to. He captured her shoulders. “Oh, no. There’ll be no turning away this time.”

The air between them was sizzling. “Aye,” she cried out. “Aye, I deceived you. Aye, I tricked you. But I did not relish it.”

“And what just happened? The two of us together, Maura? Was that part of your plan?”

Her heart squeezed. A wrench of shame went through her. He couldn’t know the guilt she felt. But she knew that if it happened all over again, her choice would have been no different.

His mouth twisted. “I see that it wasn’t. Why then, Maura? Why?”

There was a stifling heaviness in her chest. She braved the biting demand in his eyes as best she could.

“I needed to find you. I—I needed to come here. To Scotland. To Gleneden.”

“And I was the means?”

“Yes! Yes! It was the only way I could think to come here. To stay and not arouse your suspicions. To search for the Black Scotsman—”

“The Black Scotsman!” He made a sound of impatience. “It’s just a name conjured up by some silly young maids—”

“No. Not you, Alec. The pirate. The first Black Scotsman. The real Black Scotsman.” The instant she spoke his name, it was as if her veins filled with ice.

His eyes narrowed. He tugged her down on a small settee, his expression grim. “What the devil is this? Maura, you make no sense.”

“What the devil, indeed.” Her tone was fervent. “The portrait downstairs. James, the seventh Duke of Gleneden. The one who wore the black glove. You said it yourself—that he was a nasty fellow—and he was, Alec. Far more than you realize.”

Alec made no remark.

“You didn’t know, did you? That he was a pirate. No one knew.”

His eyes narrowed. “Nonsense. My lineage is honorable. Respectable—”

“Oh, stop! I daresay all families have skeletons in the closet.”

“If no one else knew he was a pirate, what makes
you so certain he was?” He was thin-lipped and abrupt.

Maura suddenly shivered. “I know, Alec.
I know
. And my father did, too. That’s what brought me here. That’s what brought me to you.”

She recounted the myth then. How the Circle of Light brought fortune and favor to those of the Clan McDonough.

How the Black Scotsman plundered the seas, concealing his identity.

How he stole the Circle of Light.

She told of how death came to Randall O’Donnell, the lord who had lost the Circle of Light to the Black Scotsman. Pain bled through to her voice. “It happened just this way to my father, and my father’s father before him. Death, without warning. Death, so unexpected, since the time of Randall O’Donnell, grandfather to my grandfather!”

Alec’s lips pressed together. “This is what you meant when you said I’d robbed you?”

“Aye.”

Alec said nothing.

“You don’t believe me?” she cried.

“An enchanted Celtic relic come down through the ages? One that no one has seen—provided it even exists!—for nearly two hundred years? Maura, you’ve begun to believe in the tales you tell the children.”

Her eyes grew stormy. “You would not doubt it if you saw my homeland.”

Alec thought of Thomas Gates. Very soon he would know.

“My family was cursed when the Black Scotsman stole the Circle of Light, because we failed to protect it. Yours was cursed as well. Cursed by Randall O’Donnell as he sailed into the night. Cursed when the Black Scotsman stole the Circle of Light!”

“Look around you, Maura. Does it look as if we’ve been cursed?”

“And can you say with certainty that no ill has befallen your family?”

“No more than any other.”

“What of your father? You told me how he suffered, Alec. How you watched him die little by little, more and more with each day.”

“That had nothing to do with your Circle of Light. And aye, my mother lost three children. But that, too, was fate.” He made a gesture of impatience. “Chance. Destiny. It wasn’t because of any curse.”

“You said your sister and cousin were caught out on the loch one night. Everyone was frantic. They might have died, Alec.”

“But they didn’t.” He dismissed it. “It was a freak storm.”

“I promised my father, Scotsman. I promised him I would find the Circle of Light and bring it home—home so our people would no longer suffer—so the land is green and fertile and flourishes as it once did. Help me,” she implored. “Help me, that I may return home and put an end to this curse once and for all.”

Alec got to his feet. “You may have married me to find some ancient Celtic relic that may or may not exist. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are my wife,” he declared with a touch of arrogance. “I told you earlier you could return to Ireland whenever you wished. I would never begrudge you that. But this is your home now, Maura. Gleneden is your home.”

Maura’s heart pinched. Her head bowed low. “No,” she said painfully. “Ireland is my home. Ireland…not Gleneden.”

There was a thundering silence.

Alec’s eyes flickered. “It no longer matters how or why we married. It cannot be undone. I am your husband. You are my wife.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “No.”

Catching her elbows, he brought her to her feet. “What the devil! Do you mean to tell me there is more you’ve withheld from me?”

Maura’s nerves were screaming, but her heart went very still.

“Aye,” she said faintly.

His expression was forbidding. Utterly fierce. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of it.