For a moment, Tor thought he was dreaming. He sensed the woman beside him, her soft, feminine scent wreaking havoc with his mind. He couldn’t think straight; his head felt as if it had been stuffed with wool.
Bloody hell, he must have had more to drink than he realized. It had been a long time since anyone had snuck up on him. But the twinge of annoyance was quickly forgotten as his body reacted to her presence.
And react it did. Every muscle in his body vibrated with awareness.
This was just what he needed. A soft, willing woman to drown out thoughts of another.
Apparently, MacDonald had ignored his wishes and sent him a lass anyway. He smiled lazily. He’d have to thank his host in the morning.
He drew the lass against his body, her softness melting against him. She was a tiny little thing but felt surprisingly good in his arms, lush and soft, with plenty of womanly curves. And God, that smell. He inhaled, sinking his nose into the soft silk of her hair. Incredible.
The soft hitch of her breath when his mouth touched her ear sent a bolt of lust shooting straight to the head of his cock. He felt himself hardening against the sweet curve of her bottom and knew right away that he was in for an enjoyable ride.
She gasped and he felt her body stiffen with shock, a reaction he was used to. He chuckled. Aye, he was a big man. “Don’t worry, lass,” he murmured in her ear, his lips trailing down the velvety skin of her neck to the sensitive juncture at her shoulder and nape. “I’ll be gentle.”
It was a promise he didn’t know if he could keep. The honey taste of her skin was driving him half-crazy. She was so damned soft and sweet. He nuzzled deeper into her neck and shoulder, kissing her, sucking, tasting, unable to get enough of her, his hunger insatiable. Her long hair fell around him in a silky veil, tickling his bare chest. He wanted her naked against him, skin to skin, but he didn’t think he could wait. His need was overpowering.
Her soft, uneven gasps egged him on. Playing the innocent, was she? He didn’t typically enjoy such games, but right now he didn’t care. Lust filled his groin with heavy, molten heat. His skin felt like it was on fire. He was already as hard as a damned spike.
Not usually so impatient, all he could think about was sinking into her from behind and thrusting until the mindless oblivion overcame them both. He rubbed himself against her bottom a little harder, liking the idea more and more. His cock throbbed painfully. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this aroused. His body responded to her on a base level with pure, raw lust.
MacDonald had outdone himself with this one.
He could feel the gentle swell of her hips and the round curve of her shapely bottom. She might be small, but she was sturdy. Built perfectly for what he had in mind.
His hand slid from around her waist to cup her breast. He groaned at the feel of her filling his palm, his mind immediately picturing the breast he’d seen earlier. This lass had more than enough to make him forget.
He scooped the heavy flesh in his hand, rubbing her nipple between his finger and thumb until it tightened into a hard peak, the way he’d wanted to touch another.
She made a sharp sound, her hips riding back against him. Oh yes, she wanted it badly. He could feel her heart racing wildly under his hand.
He drew the soft lobe of her ear between his teeth. “Like that, do you?” he whispered huskily.
She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. It was better that way. This was about pure, mindless lust. He didn’t even want to know what she looked like.
In the darkness, she could be anyone.
Like it? Christina couldn’t breathe—first from shock, and then from the hot waves of sensation rippling through her. It felt incredible. Like liquid heat pouring through her veins.
Her heart was racing like a rabbit’s. But he didn’t seem to notice. If he wasn’t drunk, he was close. She could smell the whisky on his breath and hear it in his voice—the dark, masculine tones turned deep and husky. Who would have thought that such a fierce warrior could sound so seductive?
But if the drink had taken the edge off his intensity, it had also dulled his senses enough to mistake her shocked reaction for something else.
He thought she wanted … this. Admittedly, an understandable mistake given that she was in his bed.
Should she call out? Tell him who she was?
At least she was safe for now. As long as he was behind her, her virtue was safe. She wasn’t a complete innocent; she knew how men and women made love.
But where was her father?
Then he was touching her, and she forgot about being scared, forgot about her father’s plan, forgot about everything except what he was doing to her. All she could think about was the hard column pressed against her bottom, his mouth on her neck and ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine, and the incredible sensation of his big hands cupping her breasts, squeezing and plying her nipples until they throbbed with pleasure.
Never could she have imagined that a man’s touch could make her feel like this. Heavy, drugged, as if her body were not her own. It was even better than in her book! She was hot and achy, awash in sensation, her body tingling in places she’d never imagined. Her breasts were full and heavy, and a strange dampness gathered between her legs.
Her body’s reaction would have embarrassed her, but she was too overcome with pleasure to think about it. His hands felt too good. Big, possessive, hot. The pressure exquisite. Leaving her craving—nay, needing—more. She moaned, arching into his hand when the sensations he roused by stroking her breasts became too much to bear. When the clawing need had nowhere to go.
Her innocent response did something to him. His movements grew more demanding. His kiss turned rougher, his mouth and the scrape of his whiskers ravaging the soft skin of her neck. He was breathing hard, the muscles in his arms and chest tight and strained, his passion as fierce as the man himself. And she liked it.
“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned in her ear. “I hope you’re ready.” His hand skimming the length of her body from breast to hip and lower, then back up again, but this time without the chemise between them.
Ready for what? She gasped when his rough, callused hand connected with bare skin. The sensation was incredible. Her skin burned under his wicked touch. His hand dipped between her legs, his fingers sweeping the tender skin along the inside of her thigh.
She froze with embarrassment. Dear Lord. He was going to …
One big fingertip swept the sensitive seam of her dampness. She quivered—with shock or desire, she didn’t know. Her body shuddered for his touch, but the dreamy haze that had surrounded her had started to lift.
“Aye,” he groaned. “You’re ready.
“I can’t wait to make you come,” he whispered. She shuddered, reacting to the wicked tone if not the meaning.
His hands gripped her hips, tilting her back toward him.
Reality returned full force. Something wasn’t right. Could he possibly …?
“Please don’t …” She tried to wriggle away, but froze when her bottom brushed the thick column of his manhood. “Stop.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he said tightly, his voice strained.
His grip on her hips hardened. She felt the thick head of his erection probing her intimately and jerked with panic. “No!” she cried.
But it was too late. In one hard thrust he plunged deep inside her, tearing through her maidenhead. She screamed, feeling as if she’d just been ripped in two.
He stiffened behind her and swore—a crude oath that with what they’d done had just taken on new meaning. Still gripping her hips, he unceremoniously pushed her off him and jumped from the bed as if he’d just been burned.
He had. They both had.
Tor felt as if he’d just plunged into an icy loch. The haze of drink and lust were gone in an instant. What the hell was going on? The chit was a damned virgin!
He strode to the window and tore open the shutter. The wood banged against the stone with a slam that reverberated throughout the room.
Moonlight flooded the room with a shadowy light. He looked into the tear-filled gaze of the woman on the bed and felt the blood drain from his body.
The effects of the whisky had not completely dissipated, and it took him a moment to clear his head enough to make sure he wasn’t imagining her. But nay, it was true. The woman he’d just divested of her maidenhead was Fraser’s beautiful, dark-haired daughter.
She’d sat up and had her arms wrapped around her legs as if she were trying to curl into a ball and disappear. Her long sable hair fell in a silky veil around her shoulders, mussed from his ravishment. She looked young, innocent, and very scared, gazing up at him with wide eyes and tears streaming down her soft cheeks.
When he thought of what he’d done to her—how he’d kissed her, how he’d touched her, how he’d taken her virginity from behind—his stomach twisted; he felt ill.
He took a step toward her and stopped. He didn’t owe her comfort; if anything, it was she who owed him an explanation. “What are you doing here?” he demanded “Why are you in my bed?”
Her face paled, her dark eyes shimmering with panic. “I …”
All of a sudden the door swung open and Andrew Fraser stepped into the room, the burst of candlelight casting away the shadows, leaving nowhere for the truth to hide. A serving girl and a man stood behind him.
The older man took one look at his thoroughly ravished-looking daughter on the bed and at Tor, whose naked state left little to the imagination. Not all the blood had drained from his body, and his arousal was still prominently clear—as was the dark red smear running down its length. If that wasn’t proof enough, the spots of blood on the coverlet were incontrovertible. He’d taken her maidenhead.
But the gleam of satisfaction in Fraser’s eye made Tor’s blood run cold.
The truth hit hard. He’d been tricked.
His gaze snapped back to the lass, not wanting to believe she’d played a part in such treachery.
She startled from the intensity of his gaze, then looked away. But he’d seen it: guilt.
• • •
Christina was numb. Past shock. Past horror. All she felt was lost. Like she was running through the dark maze of a horrible dream and couldn’t find a way out.
But it wasn’t a dream; the throbbing pain between her legs proved that it was very real.
How could this have happened? One minute she’d been consumed by passion, ablaze in the most wondrous sensations, connected to him in a way she’d never imagined, and then it had all gone so wrong. He’d entered her so fast, she didn’t realize what he’d intended until too late. She didn’t know a man and a woman could make love—her cheeks heated—that way.
And then her father had entered the room and everything became so much worse. The maidservant he’d brought to witness her shame quickly averted her eyes. But the guardsman stood stoically behind him, watching the whole thing.
“What have you done to my daughter?” her father demanded, sounding aggrieved.
She ventured a look at the MacLeod chief, his expression as fierce as she’d ever seen it. He glared at her father with cold fury in his eyes. “Exactly what any man would do when a whore is sent to his bed.”
Christina gasped at the crude barb. Shock squeezed her chest. How could he say such a thing? A few moments ago he was touching her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he desired her more than anyone else in the world. As if she were special. Her body was still tingling from where his hands had caressed her breasts, where his fingers had pinched her nipples, and where his mouth and jaw had marked her neck.
The guardsman’s hand went to the sword at his waist, but her father waved him back.
“How dare you!” her father said, not needing to feign outrage this time. “My daughter was an innocent maid. You wear the proof of her virginity on you right now.”
Christina had carefully avoided looking at his nakedness, but her eyes dropped of their own accord—and then widened. Jesu! No wonder it hurt so badly. Cheeks burning, she quickly averted her gaze. But not before the image of his incredible body was burned in her mind. The maidservant, however, eyed him boldly, shooting Christina a look of womanly appreciation that she didn’t fully understand.
“I only took what was given to me,” the MacLeod chief said coolly, an unmistakable edge to his voice.
He thought she’d wanted this. That she’d meant to seduce him. But she’d only meant to lie next to him. He wasn’t supposed to wake up.
“And now you will pay the price,” her father said matter-of-factly.
So matter-of-factly that comprehension finally dawned on her. How could she not have seen it before? The betrayal smacked her in the chest with nearly as much force as if he’d struck her.
He’d meant for this to happen. He hadn’t been delayed. Her father had never intended to come find her after a few minutes; he’d hoped she would be discovered and ruined. MacLeod could never refuse to marry her now. No matter how it had been accomplished, it was the only honorable thing to do.
Shame washed over her. And she’d been too much of a fool to realize what her father intended.
How could he do this to her? How could he deceive her like this?
Achieving his goal had blinded him to everything else.
“I do not pay for what is given for free,” the MacLeod chief replied.
Christina’s eyes flew to his face. Surely, he didn’t mean …? But he did. He didn’t want to marry her—even after taking her innocence. Even after what they’d shared.
His expression was hard and unyielding. He wouldn’t even look at her. He thinks I’m a part of this. She was, but she’d never intended it to go this far.
“Just what are you saying?” her father demanded, his face red with rage.
“I’m saying your daughter got exactly what she deserved when you sent her to my room.”
Christina couldn’t let him believe this of her. “But I never meant—”
“That’s enough,” her father interrupted. He turned on her with an angry glare. “You’ve done quite enough.” He motion to the maid and guardsman. “Escort her back to her room.” He spoke again to Christina, “I will speak with you tomorrow when this is settled.”
She looked to the MacLeod chief, searching for reassurance, but his face was as cold as ice, without a shred of compassion, the tic in his hard-set jaw the only indication of his anger. But she could feel it radiating from him, in every powerful muscle of that incredible godlike body. His nakedness didn’t seem to bother him at all. He stood as tall and proud as if he were a warrior in full armor. Invincible. With that build, it was easy to see why.
She climbed down off the bed, feeling as if she’d aged a hundred years in the last hour. She wobbled, catching sight of the telltale stain on the coverlet. She quickly shifted her gaze, her cheeks flooding with hot shame.
Ignoring her father, she turned to the MacLeod chief again. It somehow seemed vitally important that he know the truth. “Please,” she begged for understanding, “it’s not what you think. I didn’t know. This was a mistake.”
“Yes, it was,” he said curtly. Coldly. She knew he was angry—he had every right to be—but his remoteness stung. He’d touched her in the most intimate ways, possessed her with his body; she wanted to believe that it meant something.
Despite the ugliness of what her father had done, it had meant something to her. She stared at him, willing him to look in her direction, to give her a little comfort—no matter how insignificant—but he kept his gaze on her father, having forgotten all about her.
Insignificant. Her heart tugged hard in her chest. She was only a pawn in the games of men. One day she wanted to mean something to someone. But perhaps it was a foolish thing for a woman to want.
Christina bowed her head and followed the maidservant and guardsman out of the room, feeling her throat thicken with hot tears.
She didn’t know which was worse: that she was no longer a maid—ruined in the eyes of many—or that he didn’t care he was the one who made her so.
Tor watched her leave, refusing to allow himself to be swayed by her pitiful pleas. The treacherous chit had gotten exactly what she deserved.
He would not be forced into a marriage he didn’t want by trickery. If he did marry again, it would be for the good of the clan. It wouldn’t be to a woman who’d tricked him into taking her virginity.
Unbidden, the memories returned. Of holding her lush breasts in his hands, of her bottom pressed against his cock. Of dragging his mouth along the honey velvet of her skin as the veil of her silky hair fell over him, of her soft little breaths of pleasure, of the way she’d trembled when he’d touched her slick core, of the explosive passion that had gripped him as he’d plunged inside her.
Cursing his body’s reaction, he grabbed his leine and tossed it over his head.
He’d never been like that before. Wild with desire. Damned near out of control with it. The drink must have addled his mind.
He forced the memories back. His unnaturally fierce reaction to her would not change his original decision. Allying himself with the great patriot family of Fraser would immediately call into question his neutrality, putting him at odds with both Edward and MacDougall.
Lust was about as ridiculous a reason to wed as love.
Fraser waited until his daughter and the others had gone before rounding on him. “Do not think you can avoid this. The story of what has happened here will be all over the castle by morning.”
“I see you’ve made sure of that,” Tor said, referring to the maid and guardsman Fraser had brought along to witness this farce. “But you erred if you think it makes a damned bit of difference to me.”
“You’ve ruined her,” Fraser said incredulously. “Of course, you are honor bound to marry her.” No matter what the circumstances, he left unsaid.
“Am I?” Tor smiled. “You assume I play by the same rules. You came to me with an offer that I refused—for good reason. I’ll not be forced into marriage by trickery. It’s not my honor in jeopardy, but yours and your daughter’s.”
Only the knowledge that Tor could kill him with his bare hands held Fraser’s anger in check. “No one forced you to do anything,” he said. “Are you claiming that my daughter seduced you? My innocent daughter?”
“She seemed eager enough to me.” Tor’s face betrayed no emotion, but Fraser’s words pricked him. He replayed the scene over in his mind, and as much as he wanted to, he knew he could make no such claim. The odd reactions he’d attributed to game-playing made horrible sense for an innocent maid—and he’d been too out of his mind with lust to notice. But she’d responded. He put up the wall in his mind before he could think about that. She’d made no effort to stop—not until it was too late. “I suspect you knew exactly what would happen when you sent her to my bed. That it did is your problem.”
It seemed to finally be dawning on Fraser that he’d overplayed his hand. “No one will have her when it is discovered what has happened here.”
The lass had known what she risked.
And if she hadn’t?
Tor pushed aside the question. He would not feel guilty for having been tricked. He’d made his decision for the good of his clan and nothing had changed. “Then I suggest you stop your people from spreading word before any more damage is done.” He took a threatening step toward Fraser. “Now, it’s time for you to leave before I decide to ignore the truce and give you exactly what you deserve for what you attempted this night.”
Fraser took one look at him and knew it was not an idle threat. His black gaze landed on Tor. “This isn’t over,” he said, his voice teeming with resentment and anger.
But they both knew it was. Fraser had gambled with his daughter’s virtue and lost.
The moment Christina saw her sister, the tears she’d been holding back exploded into a big rush of choking sobs that wracked her entire body. Beatrix didn’t say a word but simply enfolded her in her arms, offering the comfort Christina so longed for after the emotional tumult of the night. She’d traveled from heaven to hell in the space of a few horrible minutes.
Slowly, through halting breaths, the story emerged. Perhaps not the most intimate details, but enough for even an innocent like Beatrix to understand. What had happened had been earth-shattering in a way that Christina could never explain to her sister. But it had left her irrevocably changed, for now she knew a man’s touch. Knew how she could become weak with passion and desire. Knew exactly how intimately a man and woman could be joined.
Beatrix didn’t say a word, just murmured soothing sounds, stroked her head, and allowed Christina to cry until she’d drenched the front of her chemise with tears.
When the tears at last subsided, Christina took a deep breath and looked up at her older sister through swollen, watery eyes. “What am I going to do?”
Beatrix untangled a piece of hair that was stuck in Christina’s lashes with a gentle sweep of her finger. “What happened tonight doesn’t need to change anything,” she said softly. “It won’t be the first time a girl trying to escape a marriage has sought out the sanctuary of a nunnery. Chastity is not required before you enter, only after.” She smiled. “If that is what you truly want.”
“Of course it’s what I want.”
Beatrix gave her a thoughtful look. “Maybe what happened was for the best.”
Christina pulled back in shock. “How can you say that?”
“Because I don’t think a lifetime devoted to God is what you would choose were other options available. Escape, peace, a lifetime of solitude—I understand your reasons for going—but how long before the walls of sanctuary would start to feel like a prison? You want to marry, Chrissi. Escape with him; he’ll protect you.”
There was more truth in her sister’s words than she wanted to admit. The veil would protect her, but once taken, her vows could not be undone. She would have peace and the ability to do something useful with her learning, but not freedom. Nor would she ever again know the closeness with a man that she’d experienced today.
He was wrong for her … wasn’t he? Everything about the battle-hard warlord overwhelmed her. He was too intimidating. Too fierce. Too … too. But he was also honorable, controlled, and—as she couldn’t help but be aware of—handsome enough to make her knees weak.
But none of this mattered. Beatrix was forgetting something very important. “I told you what he said. He doesn’t want to marry me.”
Beatrix cupped the side of her face in her hand and gave her an indulgent smile, looking more like a mother than a sister. “He’s angry. Give him time to think. He’ll see that you had nothing to do with our father’s trickery and do what is right. From everything you’ve told me, everything you know of him, do you believe he could do anything less?”
Nay, not if her estimation of him was true. But Beatrix hadn’t seen his face. Christina shuddered at the memory, having never faced such vitriol. “What if I’m wrong?” What if he wasn’t the chivalrous knight that she’d made him out to be, but the brutal warlord she’d first imagined?
“Is that what you think?” her sister asked.
Did she? What did she know of him? A strange question to ask about a man who’d touched her so intimately, roused her passion, and taken her virginity in one wicked stroke.
She knew that he spoke with authority and carried himself with the pride of a king, that he was a warrior of repute and incomparable skill, that he was capable of mercy, and that he would save a serving girl from rape where others turned a blind eye. Everything she knew of him spoke of honor.
She looked at Beatrix and shook her head. Deep in her gut, she knew she wasn’t wrong about him.
“Then the question is what do you want?” Beatrix asked quietly. “But I think you already know the answer.”
Christina’s chest squeezed, knowing that her sister spoke true. “What if I’m wrong?” she said hoarsely.
“The nunnery will always be there, but this might be your only chance to find happiness. What if this man is your Lancelot? What if he is the man you are destined to love?”
Christina managed a wry smile. “I thought I was the one who let my imagination run away with me.”
But Beatrix had only given voice to her deepest girlish dreams. The alternative, a lifetime of “what ifs,” spread out before her like a path without end. Like the endless tolls of bells sounding the “Liturgy of the Hours” from Matins to Compline.
Her sister was right. It was worth the risk. She wouldn’t be the first bride to seek refuge in a nunnery to escape a terrible marriage. The reverse, however, was not possible. If she took the veil, there would be no going back.
And truth be told, after what she’d experienced tonight, she didn’t know if a life of chastity would be possible. Her desire had been awakened. No longer was she innocent. And though it was certainly wicked to think such things, she was glad of it. She’d liked how it felt when he touched her. She bit her lip. Well, except for when he’d entered her. But pain was to be expected the first time. At least that was what she’d heard.
Something about Tormod MacLeod called to her in a way that she could never have expected from such a fierce and terrifying warrior. The very first time their eyes met she’d felt it—that strange current of awareness running through her. And when he’d pulled that man off her like some dark avenging angel, it seemed like destiny—as if he’d been drawn from the pages of her stories.
She wanted him. But did he want her?