Chapter 16
The last piece of the door landed on the bonfire in a cloud of sparks. Ewan lowered himself to the grass and looked out at the ocean. It would take a long time for the hardened boards to catch and burn down, but he was determined to see it done.
It hadn’t been easy—the hinges were rusted with age, so they’d had to tear it down with axes. His hand had throbbed the entire time and the wood was practically petrified from age. It had felt fitting, though, that it should be a struggle. After seeing that door in his nightmares for twenty-five years, it would have been insulting if it had come down without a fight.
The entire time he was chipping away at the boards, moments from the past and present warred for his attention. Before, he’d only ever had terrifying memories of that place. Now in among the bad, there were new memories. Deidre’s demanding that he take her. Her gasp when they joined together the very first time. He and Angus laughing as they cursed every oak tree in Scotland. The first piece of the door breaking free, letting daylight into the cellar. It would never be a place he thought of fondly, but there was more to it now than just listening to his mother dying in the darkness.
A piece of green wood popped. The boards had finally started to catch. He leaned back against a boulder and finally let himself think about her. It was safer not to—the first thought of his mother was always her ragged breathing beside him as she struggled for air. The pain of the memory was close to unbearable, but the anger he felt at his memories was why he’d stopped letting himself think of her altogether. It was too easy to hurt someone without even realizing he was doing it.
This time, he was able to remember. It still hurt. God, did it ever hurt. The tears came in rivers, alone out on the cliff with only the fire to see. But after he remembered it all, after it stole his breath and ripped him apart, other memories came. Things he’d lost in the brutality of her death. She’d been young. He didn’t think he’d ever realized it before, but she couldn’t have been more than eighteen when he was born.
He remembered her laughing. They’d packed food and brought it out to the cliff’s edge. Ewan had decorated her with little flowers, hundreds of them, and she’d laughed. He remembered that she used to sing while she sewed. He would hide under her chair, staging great battles with his wooden soldiers. Sometimes the soft melody of her voice would lull him to sleep and he would wake up to her calling his name and carrying him off to bed.
“Are you all right?”
Ewan looked up to find Rose on the edge of the fire. “Aye.”
“May I sit with you?”
He nodded.
She joined him in the grass. “They should have torn it down years ago.”
“They should have done a lot of things,” he said, but lacked some of the bitterness it would have had yesterday. “Rose, do you remember my mother?”
Her brow furrowed. “Of course, although I dinnae see her often without—”
Without his father. Aye, he remembered that, too. She’d been a different person around his father, fading into the background whenever Hugh was in the room.
“She used to brush my hair. I always hoped . . . I thought my own mother might have been a bit like her. If my parents had lived,” Rose added quietly.
Ewan searched his newfound memories for something that would dispel her melancholy. “Do ye remember when she would sneak us spice cakes?”
“I do!” Rose laughed. “Ye never could figure out how she got them past the cook.”
“Neither could you,” Ewan accused.
“I dinnae need to. She told me.”
“She dinnae.”
“She did.”
“What was it then?” The trick to getting spice cakes was one of the great mysteries of their childhood.
Rose smiled. “She asked for them.”
And its answer was thoroughly disappointing. “That cannae be the truth.”
“It is,” she promised. “I wouldnae lie to you. Nae about this.”
“Ye’d lie to me otherwise?” he joked.
Her response didn’t share his levity. “About some things, aye.”
That took Ewan by surprise. He chose his next words as carefully as he could. “Rose, does Angus have reason to think yer a danger to me?”
“I suppose he does.” Her voice trembled as she stared into the flames.
The fire sent up a billow of sparks as the boards shifted.
***
It was dark when Ewan came back. Deidre heard him moving around on his side of the door that joined their rooms. He paused in front of it once, twice. The second time, she decided to quit waiting for him to do the sensible thing.
Deidre pushed the door open, watching him. He picked up a ring from the top of the dresser. It was large with heavy detailing and flashing red stones set into it. He rolled it in his palm. He set it back down.
“Not your taste?” she asked.
He smiled. That was a good start. She’d been a little afraid he’d managed to get his notions all twisted up again since the last time they saw each other.
“I dinnae think I get a choice in the matter. It’s the Broch Murdo signet ring.”
“You could always have it remade. I hear you lordly types get to do whatever you please.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
He put the ring down and crossed the carpet. The look in his eyes was quite a bit more than a good start. “And ye think fussing about with rings is what pleases me?”
“Far be it from me to question the pleasures of a lord.”
“Oh, aye? What if yer lord were ruled by depraved, lascivious thoughts and the sight of ye brought to mind all manner of indecent pleasures?”
Then Deidre would take up praying thanks every hour on the hour. His words rolled over her, setting her skin tingling and slickness building at her core. “As a common woman, I would be powerless to refuse.”
He slid a tendril of her hair through his fingers, caressing and twisting it. “Yer far from common, Deidre, and yer the least powerless woman I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re far from depraved.”
Ewan’s eyebrow arched. “Yer certain of that, are ye?”
His fingers released her hair. They trailed down the side of her neck and along the swell of her breasts. He was barely touching her, but Deidre felt her heartbeat quicken. When he dipped his finger under the edge of her bodice, her nipples tightened, begging for his attention.
“Take it off,” he commanded.
Deidre was all too willing to play this game with him. She reached back to undo her buttons, sending her breasts forward. He palmed one, brushing the peak through the fabric. It wasn’t nearly enough. “Ewan—”
His fingers silenced her while his other hand continued its teasing exploration. He brushed her nipple again, harder this time. The other hand traced the outline of her mouth. He ran his thumb across her lips, parting them. It dipped inside and she trapped it with her teeth. She held it there for a moment, letting him think she might challenge him, before she wrapped her lips around it and drew back slowly.
His pupils flared. His hand stilled on her breast. She did it a second time as she undid the last of the buttons. His eyes were glued to the place where her lips touched his skin. His breathing became uneven. Pushing the bodice off her shoulders and the skirt from her hips, she stepped back, releasing his thumb with a final flick of her tongue.
“Yer a wicked woman, Deidre.” He looked the length of her bare skin. “Do ye even own undergarments?”
She shook her head.
He muttered in Gaelic as he reached for her. Ewan pulled her farther into the room, turning her to face the mirror that stood against the wall. “Tease me like ye did at the river.”
It was a large mirror. It showed them from head to toe, Deidre wearing nothing at all with Ewan fully clothed behind her. There was plenty there to inspire her. Even just the sight of his hands against her hips would have kept her imagination busy for hours, and there was still the feel of him pressed against her backside to consider.
She tilted her head back, resting it against his chest. One hand she placed to her breast and the other she trailed lazily across her skin. She shifted her hips as she stroked, tormenting him from both directions. This time, though, he was not a passive observer. His lips touched the side of her neck, distracting her with delicious thrills of sensation when he found the sensitive place behind her ear. His own hands roamed.
He took the peaks of her nipples between his fingers and pinched. “Were ye thinking of me in the river?”
Her hips writhed in answer. She was torn between wanting him inside her to quench the ache between her legs and wanting him to continue this sensual torture. So few men truly took their time.
Ewan squeezed again. “Were ye?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He buried his fingers in her hair, pulling her mouth to his in a possessive kiss before turning her head back to face the mirror.
She watched his free hand travel her body. The view in the mirror was intoxicating. Every tiny move, viewed like it was happening to someone else, amplified the anticipation of his fingers sliding down her stomach, spearing through the dark curls, and dipping between her thighs. Deidre moaned.
Ewan’s breath was ragged behind her. “So wet. So ready.”
Fingers entered her—first one, then the second. They invaded her with impossible slowness. She ground herself against the heel of his palm, pushed back against his rigid cock, seeking more. More friction. More feeling. More Ewan.
Deidre felt him remove his belt. She heard his kilt drop to the floor. Suddenly there was nothing between them as he molded his body to hers. She held on to his wrist, feeling the sinew flex and contract as he worked his fingers faster.
“Do ye want me inside ye, Deidre?” His lips brushed her ear. “Do ye want to feel me while ye come apart?”
She felt and watched the shudder of arousal ripple over her body in the mirror.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me.”
Oh, bloody hell. “Fuck me, Ewan. Now.”
***
The mouth on her—the words went straight to his cock.
Ewan forced himself to keep a grip on his control. This morning had been a frenzy of lust and primal instincts. He would take his time even if it killed him . . . Which it bloody well might. It was difficult to convince his body to wait when she writhed against him like that. Or knowing that she was practically dripping with arousal. He’d almost shamed himself when he slid his fingers inside her.
What he needed was a minute to gather his wits.
“Dinnae move,” he told her.
She did as he asked, watching him in the mirror. There was nothing shy about her interest. She followed every line of his body, every movement of his muscles, as he crossed the room.
He grabbed the straight-backed chair and came back, placing it in front of the mirror. Deidre watched, but didn’t say anything. He framed her face with his hands, kissing her slowly. She leaned into it, melting into him. Ewan ran his hands down her sides, across her hips, sliding down between her legs. He lifted her thigh, placing her foot on the chair.
He knelt down in front of her.
Her brow lifted. “Ewan.”
“Leannain,” he said, placing gentle bites on the inside of her raised thigh. Sweetheart.
“You said you’d—” She gasped as his tongue tasted the honey that had threatened to unman him.
“I told ye to say it,” he murmured against her skin. “I dinnae say anything about doing it.”
She quivered under the movement of his lips.
He grabbed her backside in both hands, holding her to his mouth. He found the little bead of pleasure and laved it with his tongue. She cried out, digging her hands into his hair. He used the symphony of her moans as his guide, circling and stroking with precision. When he pulled away, she tried to pull him back.
“More?” he teased.
“More,” she demanded. She pulled again, and he went willingly.
Deidre pressed against his mouth, her body demanding a rocking motion to sate her need. He slid his fingers inside her and stroked in time to her rhythm. Moans turned to shouts. The taste of her strained his manhood to the limit. He quickened his pace.
Every part of her tightened. The sweet heat around his fingers, the textured flesh beneath his mouth—they all tensed and quivered, preparing to crash in an avalanche of sensation. He felt her crest the top of the wave and he held her there a moment, deliberately slowing his assault. Her cries reached a fevered pitch. Then he sent her over.
Her body pulsed. She clenched around him as she gave herself over to the pleasure. Ewan held her up while she shuddered through the climax.
When she calmed, Ewan stood—scooping her into his arms and sitting her across his lap on the chair. He held her against his chest. He murmured to her in Gaelic and French and a handful of other languages, telling her how impossibly beautiful she was. How much he wanted her. How lucky he was to be with her.
Meanwhile, his cock throbbed in time with his rapidly beating heart.
She hummed against his chest and her hand reached down, closing around his manhood.
Ewan tried to wait. He tried to be patient and remember that he wanted to take his time. She stroked him with a confident grip. He failed.
He turned her toward the mirror, arranging her thighs to straddle his legs. If he hadn’t been so far gone, he could have taken time to enjoy the sight of her, flushed from climax and spread wide for him. Instead, he immediately positioned himself at her opening, eased her forward, and watched himself slowly disappear inside her.
It was heaven. It was hell. It was both at once, and they moaned together as she leaned forward, taking him deeper.
If she kept moving, he would never make it. Ewan pulled her back against his chest. He nudged her thighs wider, stroking circles where their bodies joined. The way she abandoned herself to pleasure—writhing, demanding, reaching down to touch herself when his hands moved to her breasts—was the most exquisite thing he’d ever witnessed.
Ewan felt her climax building again. He grasped the rounded curves of her hips and pumped into her. He worried it was too soon, too much, but Deidre gripped his thighs and matched him thrust for thrust. She called out for him to go faster. Harder. A sensual goddess in the mirror, her head tossed back as she extracted her pleasure from him with the frenzied undulation of her hips.
They peaked together, taking each other up and over the edge as soon as they’d reached it. Ewan lost all track of his surroundings. He clasped her to him, burying his face in her hair as he emptied himself into her glorious heat.
They stayed like that for a long while. It wasn’t until their breathing had slowed and Deidre started stretching herself experimentally that Ewan mustered the will to speak.
“Was that depraved enough for ye?”
Deidre laughed. She reached back to run her fingers through the hair at his temples. “If I say no, is there more?”
“Aye, lass. There’s plenty more,” he promised, carrying her to the bed. “But nae before a wee rest, and perhaps a bit to eat.”
“Mmm,” she murmured sleepily, snuggling into the pillows. “Food would be nice.”
The curve of her backside was nice—more than nice. He let himself admire it for a moment before pulling the blanket over her.
“Any request in particular?” he asked, but it was too late.
Her eyes had already shut, and the rumbling beginnings of a snore were his only answer.
***
Deidre woke up slowly, like surfacing from beneath water. The room was dark except for the flickering of the fire on the hearth. Ewan held her against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. They were naked, wrapped in a blanket. Across the room, she could hear Tristan and Tom arguing. She blinked.
“Dinnae let on yer awake,” Ewan whispered.
She wasn’t entirely certain she was. “Why?”
“Darrow’s winning at the moment. They might just go away.”
Deidre listened. The argument was about whether they should wake them, or whether they’d both be murdered by Ewan, or Deidre, for doing so. There was a side discussion running on whether only one of them might be murdered, and who that one ought to be. Tom was not in favor of being murdered, but was fairly certain Deidre would want to be involved in whatever the issue was. Tristan was certain they could handle it without her.
It was the last part that made up her mind. “Handle what without me?”
Ewan groaned. “They’d nearly given up.”
Deidre kissed him on the chin as she extricated herself from his arms and popped her head up so she could see past his rib cage. “What are you trying to handle without me? And why are you in Ewan’s room?”
“We’re not; we’re in your room.” Tristan indicated the line of the separation, which he and Darrow were very distinctly not crossing as they stood crammed in the doorway.
“The ship’s here,” Tom said at the same time.
The ship, and with it their first load of cargo. Excitement tingled through Deidre. “Did you send our boat out to meet them?”
“Not yet. Tom wanted to ask you first.” Tristan obviously thought that was unnecessary.
“Send it, but one of you go so they see a familiar face,” she said. “I’ll be down before you make land.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay here?” Tristan switched to Romani. “You might make yourself a countess after all.”
“Go,” she answered back. “Before I forget that I’m fond of you.”
Tris grinned. “As if you could. C’mon, Tom.”
Darrow nodded, following Tris out of the room.
Ewan’s forehead creased with a frown. “What are ye—”
She kissed him again as she jumped out of bed and grabbed her clothes from the floor. “We made a deal with a ship that runs goods from New France. I meant to tell you.”
“So we’re smugglers now.” He watched her from the bed.
“Yes.” She stopped getting dressed. “Does that bother you?”
He sat up, running his hands through his hair. “What do we smuggle?”
“Furs, for now. I’ve plans for more, but that will take time.”
Ewan nodded. “It doesnae bother me. It’s just . . . a bit faster than I expected.”
Deidre walked over to him, standing between his knees. She ran her fingers through the wild hair at his temples, and brushed the shaggy locks away from his forehead. “Everything is going to be fine.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into her hands. “Aye?”
“Aye,” she mocked lightly, leaning down to kiss his lips.
Ewan smiled. His hands slipped under the edge of her skirt, running his calloused palms up the backs of her calves and thighs, dragging the skirt up with his progress. His knee moved between hers, separating her legs. The response from Deidre’s body was immediate. Pleasure coiled, starting the familiar ache at her center. He released her hips to tug the unlaced bodice back down her arms.
“Ewan—”
His mouth found her breast, stealing the rest of the words from her.
Bloody hell, he was good at that. Deidre struggled to remember why she needed to be dressed as he pulled her down to straddle his lap. “Wait.”
He froze, poised at her entrance. It was everything she could do not to sink down and drown in satisfaction with him again.
“I have to go meet the boat,” she said, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.
He kissed the side of her neck. “There’s time.”
Tingling sensation radiated out from where his lips whispered against her skin. She was never going to get enough of him touching her. “Not enough, not the way we do it.”
“What if I promise to be swift and selfish?” He shifted, teasing her opening.
Deidre laughed. “As tempting an offer as that is . . .”
It truly was tempting. Even the thought of a fast, hard romp with him left her breathless. Deidre had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Ewan, and it was a little frightening. With a grumble, he lifted her and set her back on her feet. He pulled the bodice back into position, and turned her around. Placing little kisses up her spine as he went, he fastened it back together.
Deidre had to bite her lip to keep from telling him she changed her mind.
He stepped away and started putting his kilt on. “Am I allowed to come witness my induction into criminal enterprise?”
“Can you keep your hands to yourself?” She clearly couldn’t. The ripple of his back muscles was begging her to put her hands on them.
“Likely nae,” he said. “But I’ll wait to ravage ye until the work is done.”
It was good enough for Deidre. Once they took care of business, she intended to find out how much it would take for her to have her fill of him.
***
Ewan shouldn’t have tried to distract her, but he couldn’t help himself.
He’d slept. It had been full dark outside. The candles in his room had burned down, and he’d still slept. If Darrow and Tristan hadn’t made a commotion in Deidre’s doorway, he might have made it clear until morning. Waking up peacefully, not in the panicked grip of a nightmare, invigorated him. With a naked Deidre in his arms, his body had immediate suggestions about what to do with that additional energy.
Even now, following her swaying hips down the path to the cliff, his mind conjured up a handful of possibilities. He could lay her out on that boulder and make love to her under the stars. They could drop to their knees in the path and rut like animals, primitive and feral. He looked away, taking deep breaths of cool night air. What was wrong with him?
He felt alive—truly alive—for the first time in a long time. Deidre had done that to him. It wasn’t just facing his fears with her. Ever since the day they met, even when she was robbing him of everything he owned, he’d been drawn to her. Burying himself in her and feeling her climax around him, he’d felt at peace. At home. More than Broch Murdo, more than Dalreoch Castle, with Deidre he felt well and truly at home. Now that he knew that feeling, he never wanted to let it go.
“What’s that look about?” Deidre had turned where the trail started down the cliff face.
It was too soon to tell her. He knew she enjoyed his body, and he was certain she had some manner of feelings for him, but there was no telling how she might react if he unburdened his heart. No, he needed more time. She had already let down some of her defenses—with enough time, he could get her to love him back. Fortunately, they had time.
“I’d tell ye, leannain, but then we’d nae make it down to meet yer boat.” He added a wink as he passed her and started down the cliff.
“I had no idea you were such a degenerate, Lord Broch Murdo.”
“Ye’ve no idea still, but I mean to devote a great deal of time educating ye.” He meant to keep showing her, every chance he got.
They reached the bottom in time to see two boats crest the closest wave. Men jumped out, pulling the boats to shore.
“Captain. Gentlemen. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Deidre sounded like she was welcoming them to her parlor, rather than a rocky beach in the middle of the night.
“Miss Morgan.” The man gestured to the others who started unloading the boats. He must have been the captain. He eyed Ewan anxiously. “Who’s yer friend?”
“A bit of muscle, just in case. I like to make sure my interests are protected.” Deidre ran her hand along his biceps.
It was blatantly suggestive, the minx. He realized what she was up to—she’d said nothing about keeping her own hands to herself.
It seemed to satisfy the captain, though, who shrugged. The men finished stacking the furs. Deidre handed a heavy pouch with the last of Deidre’s Glasgow savings to the captain and waved for Curtis and the others to start hauling the load up the cliff side.
The captain opened the bag, checking its contents. “We’re trying to make one more run before the winter hits. If the weather holds, we’ll be back with a full hold in November.”
“We’ll have someone on lookout for your signal.”
The captain moved toward his boat, but paused. “Ye won’t have any trouble unloading the goods? There’s a lord around here somewhere, I heard.”
“That situation is well in hand.”
“If ye say so.” The captain didn’t waste any more words, climbing into the boat and giving the order to shove off. Tristan and Darrow had already stowed their boat and followed the men up the cliff toward the castle.
“Well in hand, am I?” Ewan pulled Deidre against him.
She reached under his kilt, closing her palm around his cock. “Better?”
“Aye,” he managed to moan before she stole his mind with her wicked hands.
Deidre pushed him backward until his shoulders hit the cliff wall. He wasn’t certain what she was about, but Ewan was happy to let her have her way. She kissed him while she drove him mad with slow strokes.
“Deidre, I need—” He gasped as her palm slid and rotated, hastening her rhythm.
“Tell me,” she purred. “Tell me what you need.”
He tried to hold back. He wanted all of her, the wet heat of her and the feel of her legs wrapped around him. Just thinking about it pushed him too far. His hips jerked forward and he spilled his seed onto the rocky beach with a shout.
Deidre nuzzled her face against his chest, grinning. “As I said, well in hand.”
Bloody vixen. “It’s nae amusing.”
“It’s a bit amusing,” she said, kissing his chin.
“I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye.”
“Well then,” she said. “I suppose we’d better get back so you can try to redeem yourself.”