Текст книги "A Kiss For a Highlander"

Автор книги: Jane Godman

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Fourteen

The turn the festivities had taken was making Fraser feel uncomfortable. The gathering of the clans was indeed an ancient tradition, but this squealing, giggling pack of maidens all intent on vying for his attention was something he had not bargained on. Word must have travelled through the glens. It had somehow been decided for him. Three years was long enough for mourning. Time for the Lachlan laird to marry again. Well, to hell with them all if they thought he was the man to dance to that tune.

The devil of it was that he had to keep his fellow chieftains sweet, so he had to make a pretence, at least, of interest in all the determined flirting. He cast his eyes around the room for some saner company. His eyes encountered Jack’s amused blue gaze before taking in Rosie’s slightly troubled expression. Moving on, he tried to find Martha’s face in the crowd. She, at least, could be relied upon not to simper and coo. They would laugh about this nonsense later, when he held her in his arms…

When he was absolutely sure that she was not in the great hall, Fraser strode over to Rosie. “Where is Martha?”

“She was here earlier, but then she left. I didn’t see her go—” Rosie started to say, but she was left floundering as he turned abruptly on his heel.

Fraser stifled a curse before stomping out of the hall, leaving one or two eager young ladies gazing after him in disappointment. He didn’t have far to look for Martha, but his presence caused almost as much of a stir among the kitchen maids as it did among the maidens in the great hall. The difference was he didn’t have to pretend to be in a pleasant mood here. One or two of the serving wenches took a quick look at his scowling face and scurried quickly out of his way.

For some reason that only served to infuriate Fraser further. Martha had taken over the task of turning the spit that spanned the vast, open fire. Consequently she had her back to the room and didn’t seem to notice that a hush had fallen over the kitchen. She was unaware that Fraser was standing only inches behind her until he spoke.

“What are you doing?” His voice was dangerously low.

She turned her head and smiled up at him over her shoulder. Her usually pale face was pink from her exertions. “Making sure these fowl don’t burn while Lorna and Florrie help Cora—oh!”

He caught hold of her wrist, wrenching her to her feet. “You are not a servant.”

“No, but I offered to help Cora.” Martha peeped around him, taking in the interested stares of the kitchen staff. Lowering her voice, she said, “You are drawing attention to us.”

“I din’nae care about that. I want you out there with me.”

She scanned his face. “There are dozens of pretty young maidens in the great hall, all of them wanting your attention, my laird,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “Don’t keep them waiting on my account.”

“Is that what this is about? Are ye jealous, lass?” He stared down at her incredulously for a moment. Hope flared briefly, trying to drive away his rage. If she was jealous… He fought off a sudden urge to pull her into his arms.

Something blazed in her eyes then, and she blinked rapidly as though trying to hide her emotions from him. When she spoke again, it was with her usual unruffled dignity. “I know jealousy is not something I have a right to where you are concerned. We have no claim on each other. I simply meant that you have so many guests, I’m sure you won’t miss one.” She made as if to return to her task, but he jerked her back to face him. His anger, after fading briefly, had flared into life stronger and hotter than ever. We have no claim on each other? So that was what she thought, was it?

“Don’t push me, Martha.” He glared down at her, his eyes raking the plain gown she wore. “We’ll talk about this more later, when the time is more suited to the discussion. For now, get yourself upstairs and into something more suitable. Wear the blue dress you wore at Christmas—” his expression softened slightly at the memory, “—when we danced. And then join me and my guests for the meal.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“Then I will come back here and strip that gown from your back.” A gasp from Cora informed him that his words had carried further than just Martha’s ears. “After that I will throw you over my shoulder, hoist you up that staircase and dress you in it myself. Do you doubt I will carry out my threat?”

There was an infinitesimal pause, during which he could have sworn she was weighing up her options. “No.”

“Then I suggest you get moving. You have worn my patience thin enough this night, Englishwoman.” Without a backward glance, he made his way out of the kitchen and back into the great hall.

When Martha took her seat next to Rosie in the great hall some ten minutes later, she was conscious of several interested pairs of eyes upon her. How much of the encounter in the kitchen Cora had managed to relay in so short a time, she could not be sure, but there was no doubt about it. Some of the story had already trickled out, and she was being viewed differently now. The rumour was clearly spreading around the great hall. The Englishwoman was the laird’s mistress. Fraser could not have made it any plainer if he had gone to the highest point on the battlements and shouted it across the loch. Surely the speculation was all about why he had chosen her. But they couldn’t know—and how could anyone else even begin to imagine?—what heat they could generate between them.

From that tiny spark of hatred in the cellar of the old dower house had grown something so powerful and all-consuming that it would be impossible to explain it to another person. Only Fraser understood. Because he was scorched by it as well. He whispered to her, over and over, as she lay in his arms, how it felt for him. How rare it was to find someone who could get into your blood so that your wanting them was a physical ache every minute of the day.

Oh, I can see you are all thinking I don’t know what will happen when he takes a bride or finds a younger, prettier lover. She wanted to shout those words aloud in response to their curious stares. But, you see, I never thought to have even this. So don’t judge me, or blame me, for my Jacobite winter of madness. For who knows what summer may bring?

No-one watching Martha as she calmly ate her meal, however, could possibly have known the restless thoughts that possessed her. Not Fraser, whose brooding eyes never left her face and who answered the comments of his fellow chieftains absent-mindedly during the remainder of the feast. Nor Rosie, who cast sidelong glances at her cousin’s serene expression and wondered if she had imagined the blaze of fury she had seen in Fraser’s eyes when he could not see Martha earlier. Even Cora, her keen eyes flitting between her master and the quiet, reserved—some might say “starched-up”—Englishwoman, could not find any clue in Martha’s conduct about her feelings.

After the feasting, the dancing began. The pipers ceased and musicians took up their instruments. The dancers wove in and out of the candlelight, thronging the glowing hall with colour and life. Men and women entwined, twirled and floated across the newly swept floor. As the host, Fraser was obliged to open the dance with the daughter of one of the neighbouring clansmen, and he rose, offering his hand to her with a slight bow. The girl, as pretty as a picture with golden tresses woven through with amber beads, trembled with pleasure at his touch. Martha, observing this exchange, seized her opportunity and slipped unobtrusively out of the room once more. Enough was enough. She had done as he asked.

Deciding against going to her own bedchamber, she made her way to the library on the second floor. Fraser was likely to be occupied with his duties as a host for some time, but he had ordered her to be present at the party, and he did not take kindly to having his will challenged. If it should suddenly cross his mind to seek her again, he would find her all too easily if she went to her own room. A welcoming fire roared in the grate in the library, and selecting a book, she curled up in a large wing chair, resigned to the fact that it would be several hours before she could safely make her way to bed.

I can’t even get away from his high-handed ways by just leaving this place, she thought, frowning into the leaping flames of the fire. I made Cousin Henry a promise that I would remain with Rosie until she is married. Jack had spoken to a minister, and once the battle was over, all would be in readiness for the wedding. Of course, if the battle was lost, a flight to France would be necessary, and she would have to cross the Channel with the betrothed couple. Either way, Martha would not desert her cousin until Rosie was the Countess of St. Anton. And Martha was honest enough to admit, at least to herself, that she had no real wish to leave Fraser. Whatever it was that had possessed him to start acting like her lord and master didn’t change anything. She sighed. Who am I trying to fool anyway? He is my lord and master. It is just that he must never know it.

She must have dozed, because the fire had died somewhat and the candles flickered in their sconces when she was roused by voices from the courtyard below. Rising from her seat, she went to the window and looked out to see those guests who were not spending the night at Lachlan leaving. With a sigh of relief, she tiptoed out of the room and made her way to her own bedchamber, shielding her candle against the draughts that plagued the castle corridors.

“Where the devil have you been?” She jumped slightly as she closed her bedchamber door behind her. Turning slowly, she was greeted by the prospect of a very large highlander seated on her bed. There was no way for her to know how long Fraser had been there, but he was clearly not happy. She placed her candle on the dresser before responding.

“In the library.” She remained by the door, her eyes on his face.

“Even though I told you I wanted you among my guests?”

“I ate my meal with your guests, as you requested,” she said quietly.

“You disobeyed me.”

“You don’t own me, Fraser. You are not my master.” There, she had said it aloud.

“That is not true.” His voice cracked out like a gunshot. “When I look into your eyes, when I am inside you…we both know you belong to me.”

“Then. In that instant. Not for all time.”

“By God, I will not be defied by you, Englishwoman.”

Martha lifted her chin. “You may as well get used to it, Scotsman.”

He rose then, his presence filling the small chamber. The expression on his face was not conciliatory, and Martha experienced a brief moment of nervousness. She had a feeling the effect would be the same if she had twitched a highland wildcat by its tail in a confined space. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively silky. “I will have obedience from you. Come here.”

She stood her ground. “I will not. Please leave my bedchamber.”

Fraser smiled, but the genial expression did not reach his eyes. “No.”

“Very well. Since you insist that you are the master here, I will be the one to go. I will join Rosie in her room.” She opened the door. “Oh!”

With lightning reflexes, Fraser had crossed the room and slammed the door shut, imprisoning her against it, with his hands either side of her head. The smile that wasn’t a smile at all deepened further. He leaned into her, using his superior strength to push her body up against the door. “You are not going anywhere. We are not finished.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner here.”

“I am the laird, Martha. I can do anything I want.” He threw her own words back at her.

“You said you would never take a woman by force.”

“And I never will. But you, Miss Martha Wantage, need to be taught a lesson in obedience. First, you will shortly be begging me to chastise you.” She started to protest, and he placed a finger over her lips. He leaned closer, his breath stroking her cheek. “Then, when you are sore and stinging—” he gazed deep into her eyes, “—and throbbing from your punishment, I will ask you again if you belong to me. And you will give me a different answer next time.”

She could feel the familiar moisture gathering between her legs. Despite her determination to remain aloof, her treacherous body was already responding to his words and the look in his eyes. Determined not to surrender, she kept her eyes on his and threw his challenge back at him. “I will not.”

Before the words had fully left her lips, he lifted her off her feet and threw her onto the bed, driving the breath from her body. Martha tried to bounce back up again, but he was on top of her, pinning her to the bed with one leg thrown over her as he held her arms above her head. With his free hand, Fraser jerked the laces at the front of her bodice undone, while she squirmed and struggled to be free of him. Twice, she managed to kick herself out from under him, but he calmly seized her, once by her upper arm and then by her ankle, and dragged her back to him. Martha was shaking now with fury and—she was outraged to discover—with an equal measure of desire. Catching him unawares, she was able to land a punch on his jaw that rocked his head back. Undeterred, he laughed and pressed his whole body harder against hers. Martha barely had space to breathe, let alone fight.

Using his hand to circle her neck, he turned her head, tilting her chin so that she was forced to look up at him. Slowly, he ran his tongue along the exposed length of her neck. “Still pretending this is about anger, Martha?”

He crushed his lips to hers, demanding her surrender. Jerking upward in an attempt to buck him off, Martha bit his lip. Hard. Beneath the rough cloth of his kilt, his cock hardened and quivered and another soft laugh escaped him. Lifting his head, he licked away a thin trickle of blood from his lower lip. Pulling her head back with his fist in her hair, he took his time as he slowly pulled her bodice and shift down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze.

“I am not begging you,” she said stubbornly.

“Not with your lips. Not yet. But your eyes are telling me a different story. They are telling me the truth.” He smiled, bending his head to lick and then nip each nipple in turn. Heat and raging excitement flooded through Martha’s abdomen. She bit her lip in an attempt to stifle the involuntary moan that was lodged somewhere deep in her throat, but was doing its best to escape. As his mouth closed on hers, and his lips parted hers, she wanted to melt into his strong arms. She didn’t want to think about what it meant to give in to him, she only wanted this moment. Her tongue tentatively met his and joined in the wild action of taste and dance. Fraser’s fingers took hold of her nipple and teased, making her back arch.

Moving his hand lower, he lifted her skirts, one finger finding her hot, tight wetness. Martha could hold it back no longer. A rapturous, treacherous little moan left her lips.

“Did ye say something?” She shook her head. “You didn’t ask me to do this—” he moved the finger, probing deeper, “—some more? You wouldn’t like me to do this?” He dropped his head and licked his way along her collarbone, moving his tongue along to the nape of her neck, swirling it into the sensitive depression there. Then he moved down to her breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth and began to play with it. It was too much. Martha cried out. She reached for his head, twisting her fingers into his hair, trying to coax him to move, to press inside her.

“Say it,” he murmured, his lips continuing to tease her flesh.

“Please, Fraser…” It was little more than a whimper.

“Are you begging me, Martha?” He lifted his head to look into her eyes.

“Yes, I’m begging you. Please,” she said, her voice hoarse with longing. Her breasts and sex felt like he had trailed fingers of molten fire across her flesh. Reason had deserted her. She could no longer remember what their fight was about or why she was trying to resist him.

“First we need to get rid of these clothes.” She murmured a little protest as he pulled her to her feet and helped her to step out of her dress. “Then for the chastisement.”

“The what?” Groggy with lust, Martha shivered slightly at the sudden cold on her naked body.

“On your knees, crabbit one,” Fraser directed her, and with a slightly unreal feeling, Martha obeyed, kneeling on the hard wooden floorboards. “I need your arse on display for what comes next.” He knelt behind her, hauling her hips up against his thighs so that she was forced to support herself on her elbows. She could feel the length of his cock pressing hard up against her with each movement.

“Does that mean you are going to skelp my backside as you have so often threatened?” Martha turned her head to look at him over her shoulder and was scorched by the blazing look in his eyes.

“Would you like that, Martha? Is that how you want to be punished for your disobedience?” He ran his hands over the smooth curves of her buttocks, caressing and massaging the soft flesh. The thought, instead of repelling her as she had expected, made her quiver with sudden excitement. Fraser’s smile deepened at her soft gasp and the blush which heated her face.

He held her buttocks apart, pressing the pad of his thumb hard against the puckered ring of her anus and sending a lightning bolt of shock through her body, before running his fingers lower, between her outer lips and up to her clitoris. He began to circle the tiny nub slowly while caressing her buttocks with his other hand. Then he slapped her. The ringing sound of his palm on her flesh was shockingly loud, and she jerked wildly against him, crying out. One hand maintained the pressure on her clitoris, while the other rained down a flurry of fierce, stinging slaps on one buttock then the other. Moans of mingled hurt and arousal began to escape her. As the slaps became harder, he increased the speed of his circling fingers. Martha felt as though her mind had become unhinged. There was no thought, only sensation. The burning skin of her backside matched the pulsating lust that squeezed her inner walls together hard and tight.

The hand delivering the slaps moved lower so that his palm began to hit her entrance each time. His fingertips flicking against her clitoris increased the exquisite pain. As Martha’s orgasm hit her with relentless fury, Fraser slid two fingers inside her so that he could feel her muscles spasm and grip him.

“Now you’ve taken your punishment, I need to kiss you better.” Cradling her in his arms, he lifted her back onto the bed, laying her on the pillows and gently parting her legs so that he could position himself between them. Martha’s muscles were still fluttering from her orgasm so, when he began to slowly lick every inch of her—back and forth—she was instantly writhing. Holding her open with his fingers, he took his time to anoint her sensitive flesh with his lips and tongue, licking and sucking until she came again, thrusting her hips upward to bring herself closer to his mouth.

Fraser tugged his shirt over his head and removed the rest of his clothing before coming back to join her on the bed. His cock was huge, hard and pulsing. Martha reached out and took the iron-hard velvet length of him in her hand. His indrawn breath was a hiss as she ran her fingers lightly down his shaft.

“Weren’t you going to ask me who I belong to?” she whispered. Kneeling so that she could lean over him, she traced her tongue lightly around the rim of his cock. His back arched off the bed at a near-impossible angle.

“I’m not foolish enough to risk asking that question while my balls are exposed to your teeth.”

“But I belong to you, Fraser.” Sliding her lips slowly over the bulging head of his cock, she exulted in the power she had over him. Lifting her head again, she looked into his eyes. “You have complete power over me. Can’t you tell?”

Groaning, he gripped the back of her neck, pulling her head down as his hips jerked upward. He ground out her name. It sounded very much like a cry of submission. A soft, triumphant smile touched Martha’s lips as she took him into her mouth.