Chapter Twelve
Elizabet forced herself to hold his gaze. Not the easiest thing to do when he looked as though he’d rather throttle her than speak to her. She couldn’t fault him for that. After all, she had blackmailed him into marriage. Well, almost. She wouldn’t rest easy until their plans were made public. Another glance at her soon-to-be husband and she amended that thought. She’d probably never rest easy again.
But once they were wed, she’d be able to help her family. Maybe she could even get her father to cease his criminal activities. And she wouldn’t have to spend her nights being groped by that terrifying monster of a man. The mere thought turned her stomach. Instead, she would probably spend her nights alone. Surely Jack—John—would have no desire to have a true marriage with a woman who blackmailed him.
“Did you not promise you’d protect me?” she asked.
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Finally he nodded. “Always.”
She took a step closer. “I have fought, and pleaded, and run off to live with a highwayman,” she said with a wry smile. “All to no avail. Short of murdering the man, a step I’d prefer not to take, I don’t have any options left. I may not have a blade to my throat, but if I have to marry that man, I’ll be miserable for the rest of my days. I’ll pray for death. I can’t allow myself to be shackled to him, to let him use me at his whim whenever he wishes. But I can’t leave my family to suffer, either, no matter how much they may deserve it. So what am I to do?”
He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for what felt like a very long time. Finally, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers across her cheek.
“Well,” he said. “It seems as though I must go beg an audience with the king.”
Relief flooded her, and she released a slow sigh of relief. “Considering the circumstances, it probably isn’t appropriate to thank you. But…you do have my gratitude. I know I’ve forced this on you. And I have no desire to inflict myself on you any more than necessary. Your life needn’t change. You are right about my father. I have no doubt he brought much of this on himself. But I had no part in his schemes. And neither did my mother. I merely wish to save my family without condemning myself to a life of misery. Lock me away in some country estate, if you wish. I will not complain.”
John stared at her, no sign of what he might be thinking showing on his face.
His silence unnerved her. She pressed on, unable to stop the babbling commentary.
“I simply mean, if there is someone else…or if you wish to seek…companionship…”
His eyebrow rose, and she cleared her throat. Things seemed to be going downhill quickly, but try as she might, she couldn’t make it stop. “I mean only to say I know I am not your choice, so if you choose to spend your time elsewhere, I’ll not stand in your way.”
“Will ye no’?” he said, his voice thick with amusement.
It irked her. How dare he find this funny? “No. I won’t. I have no expectation of truly living as man and wife. I desire only your name. Nothing more.”
He shook his head. “Oh nay, my lady.” He ran his hands up her arms and pulled her close. “If ye wish us to marry, ye will be my wife in every way. You will honor me.” He gently kissed her cheek. “And obey me.” He kissed the other cheek. “And keep my home in order.” His hand trailed down to rest against her neck, his fingers brushing against the pulse at the base of her throat. “And bear my heirs.”
Her heart hammered in her chest, but before she could say a word, he bent to brush his lips across hers. “And ye will warm my bed every night without fail.”
She couldn’t breathe. Her head spun. He’d barely touched her, and she seemed on the verge of fainting. The thought of what sensations he might draw from her within their marriage bed sent a tremor of anticipation down her spine.
His mouth hovered over hers. “And you will enjoy every moment of it, I promise ye that.”
She raised her face to his, though she made no move to close the distance between them. She hungered for his kiss. And feared it at the same time. He already consumed her thoughts, waking and asleep. What would kissing him again do to her?
“I still haven’t asked,” she reminded him.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I think a proposal of marriage is enough of a request to suffice.”
Before she could respond to that, his lips closed over hers, igniting her blood and searing her very soul.
He released her so suddenly she stumbled forward, her eyes still tightly closed. Her lips tingled from his touch. If that was a taste of what marriage to him would be like, she could hardly wait for the wedding. Something she’d never anticipated and would certainly never admit to him. Though by his smug smile, he seemed to know exactly what kind of effect he had on her.
“If ye’ll excuse me, my lady, it appears I have a wedding to arrange.”
He turned away, but Elizabet reached out and grasped his arm. “Wait. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
For the first time, John looked truly angry. “I may be many things, madam, but a liar isna one of them. I’ve given ye my word. I’ll keep it.”
She swallowed and nodded her head, somewhat bemused at her mortification at having accused a thief of having no honor. “My apologies, my lord.”
He shook his head with an amused sigh. “My name is John. If we are to be wed, I suppose ye should start using it,” he said with a smile that was tight, but kind.
“John, is it? Or do you prefer Jack?”
He smiled. “Either will do.”
“All right. Perhaps I shall save Jack for our…private moments.”
Her face flushed, and he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “I’ll see ye soon. Elizabet.”
…
John paced in His Majesty King Charles II’s private chamber while the king watched with an impatient lift of his eyebrow.
“John. Sit,” Charles said, pointing at the chair on the opposite side of the desk where he sat.
John stopped short, realizing what a horrible breach of etiquette he’d committed, and quickly took a seat. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were nervous.”
John gave an unconvincing snort. “Aye, perhaps I am a little at that.”
Charles’s eyes widened. “Well, that is something I never thought I’d live to see.” Charles’s keen eyes watched John. “It’s either money or a woman. So, out with it. Which one has brought you here?”
John took a deep breath and spit it out. “I wish to marry, sire.”
Charles blinked, probably stunned speechless.
“This is a surprise indeed. I never thought I’d see the day a woman made you want to settle down. Tell me, who is she?”
“Lady Elizabet Harding, daughter of Lord Dawsey.”
“That name sounds familiar…”
“Aye, sire. This is why I’ve come to you. She is soon to be betrothed to Fergus Ramsay, son of Angus Campbell.”
Charles’s amused surprise faded into the mask he wore when performing some unpleasant task. “If the lady is already betrothed…”
“I had hoped, sire, that you’d…”
“No.”
John blinked, surprised at the speed of Charles’s response. He’d known gaining the king’s approval wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t anticipated being denied quite so quickly.
“But sire, the Lady Elizabet is frightened of the blackguard. He’s merely using her to gain her property.”
“He is hardly the first man to marry for gain, John. Myself included. In fact, it would be more difficult to find a man who has not.”
He was losing his argument before it had even begun. He had to do better, make Charles understand. “Sire, the man is a criminal. He and Lord Dawsey have been embroiled in a smuggling scheme—”
“That is a serious accusation, MacGregor. Do you have proof?”
“Nay, sire. Not yet. But I will…” John cursed himself for revealing his information before he had the proof to bring a formal accusation, but he hadn’t anticipated the king dismissing his request so categorically.
The king shook his head again. “You cannot simply accuse a peer of the realm of such a crime with no proof, John. Neither can you go about breaking betrothals and stealing a man’s intended simply because you do not like him. You accuse Ramsay and Dawsey of crimes but have no proof.”
“Your Majesty, please…she asked for my help and I vowed to protect her. I canna stand by and watch him abuse her.”
“Then you vowed what was not yours to give. Her protection is in the hands of her father until she is wed. If the lady is being mistreated, then her father should be the one looking out for her interests.”
John grimaced. “Her father is the one selling her to Ramsay to line his own coffers and further their criminal venture.”
“Again, until you have proof, I’ll not hear another word about it. As for lining his coffers, this is neither a surprise nor a cause for concern. The match between them is one that brings advantage to both families. That the lady is unwilling is regrettable. But not, I fear, reason to dissolve the contract.”
John’s head pounded, his heart racing in growing despair. “He cares nothing for what happens to her.”
“And you do?”
John gritted his teeth, hating to admit his feelings aloud. He had never wanted the responsibility for her. Never wanted her well-being in his hands. Most of all, he hated the helplessness that already dragged at him. She wasn’t even his, and already forces beyond his control were conspiring to do her harm. His powerlessness gnawed at him. This is why he never wanted to be involved with a woman. How could he stand a lifetime of such vulnerability? But he’d promised his protection, his support. And if he were being honest, he’d been lost to her from the moment he’d stopped that damn horse.
So, he steeled his back and spoke the wretched words out loud. “Aye, sire. I do. Verra much.”
Charles sighed and shook his head and John hunched slightly, as if he’d been punched in the gut, trying to curl around the pain that pierced him. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted the king to agree until that moment.
“I’m sorry, John. Truly. But I cannot agree to what you ask.”
“Your Majesty, if ye’d reconsider…” he began.
But Charles held up a hand to stop him. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do at this point, John. The lady has already been promised to another, the contracts have been drawn, I’m assuming, if the announcement is imminent, all parties agree—”
“Except for the lady herself!” John said, earning a frown from the king. If John could take back the outburst, he would. Angering the king was not the way to go about getting favors granted.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. It’s only…she doesna love him, sire.”
Charles gave a mirthless laugh. “Since when has that mattered?” He shook his head. “You MacGregors are an odd bunch. And far too entangled with the Campbells to suit me. It wasn’t so long ago that your cousin was in here refusing to marry Campbell’s daughter despite my decree, and now here you are, begging me to steal a woman from Campbell’s son for you. Even if I were so inclined personally, I wouldn’t do it. I’ll not start another clan war between the MacGregors and Campbells so one girl can avoid a marriage she does not wish.”
“I understand. But sire, it’s not so simple…”
“Yes, John. It is. The lady is betrothed to another.” Charles stood, signaling an end to the conversation. “If you have feelings for this girl, I’m sorry for it. If I could grant you this favor, I would. And if you find proof of your accusations against Dawsey, I’ll hear them. In private. But I’ll not reignite the enmity between your clans, even for the sake of a friend,” he said, clapping John on the shoulder. “What’s done is done. Let her go.”
John wanted to argue more but held his tongue. It would do no good and could very likely make matters worse.
He bowed as the king left and then stood motionless in the room, his mind spinning. What now? He wasn’t really concerned that Elizabet would make good on her threat. Those had been the words of a desperate woman. And he’d done what he could.
Legally, at least.
He spun on his heel and left the king’s chambers. If the king would not help them, they’d have to help themselves. He didn’t know what they’d do yet. But one thing he did know for certain—Fergus would have her over his dead body.
…
Elizabet paced back and forth inside John’s chamber. Yes, her presence here was foolhardy at best, but she couldn’t wait for him to find her. Her future depended on what he would say when he walked through that door.
“What in the seven hells are ye doing here?” he growled.
Well, that didn’t bode well.
“Jack, I…”
“Never ye mind. I dinna care,” he said, swinging the door closed behind him and marching over to her. She’d been so preoccupied with worry she hadn’t even heard him enter. She tried to gauge his mood, maybe discern how the meeting with the king had gone, but he didn’t even slow down. As soon as he reached her, he swept her into his arms. Then his lips were on hers. All thoughts of kings and betrothals and arranged marriages evaporated under the onslaught of his kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for all she was worth.
When he finally broke away, he kept her firmly in his arms, resting his forehead against hers while they both dragged in lungfuls of air.
“Now. What are ye doing in here?” he asked again.
She laughed. “Well, if you’d let me answer the first time… I was waiting for you. To hear the news. What did the king say? It must be good news, yes? With a greeting such as that…”
John released her and walked away, jamming his hand through his hair. Elizabet’s stomach dropped to her toes.
“Jack?” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
He sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. “He said no.”
“What?” she asked, praying she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“He said no,” John repeated more forcefully, slamming his fists on his knees before getting up to pace. “He doesna wish to cause more trouble between the clans. He said that what’s done is done. Yer father has the right to choose for ye whom he will, and he’s chosen that bastard Ramsay, and the king will do naught to help.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice faint as her head whirled. She sank onto the bench that John had vacated. “Oh.”
There was more she wanted to say, more she should say, but she couldn’t seem to make anything else come out.
John dropped to his knees in front of her, and she glanced at him, startled. He took her hands in his.
“I am sorry, Elizabet. I thought I could make him see reason.”
“You tried,” she said, squeezing his hands. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d be able to get you to agree in the first place.”
She smiled at him, and John brought her hands up to his lips.
“I canna stand by and watch while ye marry him.”
She stroked his cheek. “I didn’t think you cared,” she said with a small smile, though her heart nearly beat from her chest.
“I didna think so, either.”
She stared at him, at this man who had saved her life at least twice and had tried to save her again. For a moment, she’d thought she might get to keep him. Instead, she would belong to Fergus. A small piece of her crumbled and died at the thought. But perhaps she could take something from all this. Something to think back on.
She reached up and cupped John’s face, her thumb lightly tracing his cheek. Her heart pounded so furiously it hurt, but she couldn’t stop now.
“Jack, kiss me.”
His eyes widened.
“Please,” she whispered.
He didn’t wait to be asked again. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, so gently it nearly drove her mad. She whimpered, wanting more, not sure how to ask for it. John brushed the curls from her face and cupped her cheeks, angling her mouth so he could deepen the kiss.
Elizabet kissed him back, grabbing the lapels of his coat to keep him close. The kiss grew heated, urgent. She leaned back, letting the mattress behind her support their weight as she brought him with her. Her head spun. Whether the pleasant falling sensation was from the kiss or lack of air, she didn’t know or care. As long as he never stopped.
She trailed her hands down his chest, savoring every hard ridge and plane she encountered. She helped him shrug out of his coat and unbuttoned his vest. But when she tried to pull his shirt from his satin breeches, he stopped her.
“No,” he said, kissing her fingers to take the sting from his words. “We canna go further, Elizabet, as much as I wish otherwise.”
She looked deep into those beautiful blue eyes of his, more certain than she’d ever been in her life of what she wanted. “Why not?”
He frowned in sudden confusion. “You are to be married. And not to me.”
“I know. I’m to be married to a man who doesn’t want me. Who wants to use me to further his own ambitions, to get heirs on, and then throw aside when he’s done.”
John’s grip on her tightened, and Elizabet reveled in it. “That will be my life. And I don’t want to begin it with nothing to hold on to. No warm memories to keep me sane. No knowledge of the touch of a man I want, a man who cares for me.”
She scooted closer to him, pressed against him so there was nothing between them but a few layers of clothing. “Don’t condemn me to that life, Jack. Give me something he can’t take from me.”
He stared into her eyes so deeply she thought her heart would break. “Aye, mo chridhe. Come here then, lass.”
She wrapped her arms around him willingly, and he bent and reclaimed her lips.
Fire exploded inside. The desperation bogging her down melted into an urgency she couldn’t quell, but he seemed determined to take it slow, savoring every second. He kissed her gentle and deep, stoking a slow-burning, smoldering flame that she didn’t think would ever be quenched. The knowledge that every touch was their last burned each delicious sensation into her mind forever. The look on his face when he stripped away her last shred of clothing seared onto her heart. Each caress, each embrace, each kiss was like a brand, marking her as his. Always.
She shut out the thought of anyone or anything else. The only thing that mattered was this moment. With him.
He kissed his way down her throat, his hands leaving a trail of tingling fire everywhere he touched. Her eyes kept fluttering closed under his onslaught, but she fought to keep them open. She wanted to see him. Watch his hands move across her body. Memorize every expression that crossed his face as he gazed at her, tasted her, murmured Gaelic endearments that she didn’t understand but would never forget.
This was their first time together. Their only time together. She wanted every second stored away in her memory.
As she wanted him to remember her.
She touched every inch of him, kissing her way across his massive expanse of chest, letting her hands travel downward until she found what she sought.
“A Dhia,” he said, sucking a breath in through his teeth as he shuddered under her touch. “Ye’ll unman me, mo ghràidh.”
She chuckled, emboldened by the power she suddenly had over him. She doubted she’d ever feel such a thing again.
He captured her hand and drew it over her head, entwining his fingers with hers.
“What does mo ghràidh mean?” she whispered.
He paused and stared down at her. “My love,” he said, letting go of her hand so he could smooth her hair from her face.
“Am I your love?” she asked, her heart racing too quickly to catch a breath.
His gentle smile pierced through her heart, creating a wound that would never heal. “Aye.” He kissed her, soft and lingering. “Ye are my love.” He kissed her again. “Always, always, always.”
And when he finally entered her, she welcomed the pain that came with the pleasure. She was his. That special part of her that no other man would know belonged to the man she had chosen. The euphoria carried her away until she arched beneath him, her cries muffled by his kiss.