My Cursed Highlander Read online

  “Laird Kraig, I—”

  The portcullis rose with a series of clanks from the chain hoisting the iron gate and cut off Viviana’s words. They rode across the bridge and into a courtyard surrounded by stone buildings.

  An entourage of servants flocked toward them. “Bonjour, monsieur. Bienvenue à Château de Chillion.”

  “Bonjour,” Taveon returned their greeting, dismounted, then helped Viviana to her feet. He traded niceties with the porter until the Duke of Savoy’s steward arrived.

  “Madame Medici, it is an honor. I am Monsieur Vincent.” A lanky man with a hooked nose bowed over Viviana’s knuckles. His light blue doublet trimmed in gold spoke of the nobility he served.

  “Bonjour, it is wonderful to be here. I thank you in advance for your hospitality. ” Viviana lifted the sides of her dark green skirt and dipped a curtsy, displaying the persona of nobility. “Forgive my appearance, Monsieur Vincent. There is a great deal of dust between Firenze and Montreux, and I fear I’m wearing half of it.”

  “Agnès, escort Madame Medici to a privy chamber so she might prepare for sup.”

  It seemed his new bride had not yet accepted her name. Taveon thought to correct Vincent, but in truth, the Medici name would gain them more respect at Chillion Castle than his own. As the elderly matron approached, Taveon caught Viviana’s arm and bent low to her ear. “Do prepare yourself well, Lady Kraig. After we sup, I intend to let ye seduce me.”

  “M’laird!” A sweet blush colored her cheeks as she tucked her chin and followed the matron through an archway. She stumbled, making him frown. He did hope she informed the matron she was blind, else his wee wife was liable to walk into any number of stone walls.

  A slap on his back pushed the air from his lungs. “I trust your mood will greatly improve come the morrow.” Remi might have winked, but ‘twas hard to differentiate between his blinking habit and a gesture of wickedness.

  “Aye. The morrow will be better. If my wife holds true to her cause, I shall be in rare form indeed,” Taveon jested. “Dinnae overindulge yourselves on the drink. We leave after we break our fast.”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  Taveon parted ways with Remi and Monroe, leaving their horses and Miocchi in the capable hands of four stable boys.

  “Follow me, monsieur.” Vincent led Taveon through an active courtyard, filling his ear with a recent scandal surrounding the Savoy dynasty.

  Taveon traded words with the man, but in truth, thought the steward would do well to mind his tongue. As they walked through a series of elaborately decorated corridors alight with pitch-pine torches, Taveon wondered where the Counts of Savoy had acquired their wealth. An open doorway stilled his steps and the contents of a chamber caught his curiosity. Only a single chair sat in the middle of the room, but the walls were covered with an odd sort of looking glass. “May I?” Taveon gestured toward the interior of the chamber.

  “As you wish, monsieur.” Vincent dipped his head, granting him entry.

  Taveon’s balance faltered as he entered a room surrounded by himself. Vincent lit a single wall sconce, but the looking glass reflected the flame an infinite number of times. He stepped closer and might have thought Keegan stared back at him so defined was his reflection. He scratched the dark beard covering his chin and tilted his head this way and that, studying the fine lines at his temples. “‘Tis remarkable.”

  “Oui,” Vincent agreed. “The gifts the Duke of Savoy receives are oftentimes unique and come in plentitude. The looking glass came from Venice and is backed with tin and mercury. It is why the reflection is so sharp.”

  In Taveon’s head, he’d already placed Viviana in the center of the chamber where he might see her multiple times. Of course, she was naked, which only added to the sweetness of his vision. “This chamber will suit me.”

  “Monsieur,” Vincent grimaced, “this is no bedchamber. As you can plainly see there is no bed.”

  Taveon hoped he could argue his point without exposing his indecent thoughts. “My wife and I are newly wed, and I—”

  “Enough said,” Vincent interrupted and clasped his hands behind his back. “I will have the staff furnish the chamber while you sup with your wife in the Great Hall. If you will wait here, a maid will be about shortly to escort you to the bathhouse while I make the arrangements.”

  “Merci.” Taveon thanked him and basked in the possibilities this night would offer. He would fill Viviana’s head with new memories so she might once and for all bury her dead husbands.

  Ye will see me tonight, Venus.

  * * *

  “Uffa!” Viviana clutched the seams of a soft bath robe as Agnès ripped the last piece of resin from her most private parts.

  “Breathe, madame. It is done,” the matron said in a soft voice.

  Having lost her modesty on the first strip of wax the matron tore from her legs, Viviana settled and allowed Agnès to work a sweet almond oil into her tortured skin.

  Prepare yourself.

  It was the same thing Radolfo said early on in their marriage, but she rarely heeded her first husband’s instructions. She’d never wanted to, but she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want to prepare for Taveon, to at least portray the persona of an innocent virgin on the eve of their first union. She was attracted to her husband in ways that made her skin tingle, and it had nothing to do with the process of depilation she’d just undergone.

  Agnès assisted her to her feet, then the splashing of water filled the hollow of the private bath chamber. “It is bearable, madame.”

  Viviana dropped her robe into Agnès’s waiting hands and lowered herself into a pool of hot water scented with oats and orange. She inhaled the fragrance coating her throat with steam, and let the bath water soothe her tender skin. Beneath the water, she brushed her fingertips over her thighs and then inspected her hairless nether region. It was perfect. She smiled, hoping Taveon would be pleased with her efforts.

  “Are you comfortable, madame?” Agnès tilted Viviana’s head back and poured water over her hair.

  “Sì, merci. I would have twisted myself in knots had I been forced to remove the resin on my own.”

  “Like a dog chasing its tail.” Agnès laughed and worked a fragrant lather into Viviana’s long mane. “I did that once, but my husband assists me now.”

  Viviana hoped the heat from her bath would hide her embarrassment. “I couldn’t dare ask my husband to assist me with such a private matter. We only recently exchanged nuptials.”

  The matron’s massaging fingertips stilled on Viviana’s scalp. “How recent?”

  “Little more than a sennight.”

  “A sennight! Why you are still a young bride.”

  “I suppose.” Viviana only wished she could go to Taveon’s bed unsoiled.

  “Have you need for instruction?”

  Viviana laughed. Had someone as kind and considerate as Agnès taken the time to instruct her prior to her wedding night with Radolfo, she might have been less terrified. “This is my third marriage.”

  “Gunthar is my second husband. My first husband—may he rot in Hell—was an onion-eyed maggot.”

  Sympathizing with the matron, Viviana listened to her woeful story while Agnès rinsed her hair and toweled it dry.

  “Is your new husband good to you?” Agnès pulled a brush through Viviana’s tangled locks, pampering her the way no maid had at the Medici Palace.

  “Sì.”

  “Is he gentle?”

  “Sì.”

  “Considerate?”

  “Sì.”

  “Respectful?”

  “He is all that and more.” Viviana thought she sounded like a love-sick maiden.

  “Then why do you look as though you are about to go to the gallows?” Agnès assisted her out of the water and back into the soft robe.

  “I threatened to seduce him a few days back, and I fear it was all pomp. I do not even know what to wear.”

  Agnès pat her hand. “I might
jest with you and suggest nothing, but I’m wiser than that. You must make your new husband work for the privilege of seeing your skin. Reveal yourself slowly. Bit by delicious bit. Let him savor you, cherish you.”

  Cherish you. Viviana wanted to be cherished.

  Dare she say it?

  She wanted to be loved.

  * * *

  Taveon twirled his wife in a full circle, duplicating the actions of the other dancers in the Great Hall. Music floated down from a balcony overhead where a troubadour sang a romantic ballad of sentimental love. With each stanza, Viviana’s face became more and more serene.

  He flanked himself against her generous curves, damning the layers of velvet between them. Of course, she looked ravishing in her plum gown, but he was bursting at the laces to see her out of it. There would be little seduction necessary, as he was ready, willing, and able to bask in the splendors of the marriage bed. “I trust ye are enjoying yourself?”

  One delicate winged brow lifted. “I’m enjoying myself immensely.” She smiled at him with those plush, silken lips and nigh stole his senses. “What is not to enjoy? We are honored guests of the Duke of Savoy. The quail was succulent, the blackberry wine stimulating, and the strawberries dipped in sweet sauce were positively decadent.” The tip of her pink tongue darted out to gloss her lips.

  He didn’t know if her word choices were part of her seduction, but he was aroused just the same. “Then the victuals have ye smiling?”

  “The victuals, the music… you.”

  Taveon’s smile was instantaneous and wide. Following the movements of the dance, he turned her so her back was to his front and willed himself not to taste the exposed curve of her neck. Raven hair piled in curls atop her head, bound loosely with jewel-tipped pins. The few tendrils that kissed her slender neck only added to her regal appearance. Someone had taken great care to assist her with her attire this eve as the laces of her bodice were tied in a dozen bows up her back.

  The song ended, followed by a round of applause. He held Viviana’s hand and looked at the high table where the duke and duchess of Savoy sat in noble solitude. Viviana curtsied before them as a gesture of gratitude and just as Taveon might have whisked her out of the Great Hall, Monroe stepped in and stole Viviana’s hand.

  “May I lead ye in the next dance, m’lady?” Monroe asked and kissed Viviana’s knuckles.

  The musicians struck up another song, and Viviana smiled her acceptance before Taveon could tell him nay.

  Monroe angled his head over his shoulder. “Mayhap ye should take this opportunity to thank the duke for his hospitality.”

  And mayhap I should throttle ye for undermining my authority, Taveon’s inner voice suggested, but the part of his conscience that wasn’t being guided by his lust told him to follow Monroe’s suggestion. He behaved like a barbarian, anxious as he was to get Viviana into the mirrored chamber. His cock had hardened to stone the moment he’d gazed upon his wife this eve, and he ached with the need to be inside her.

  Taveon approached the high table and bowed before his hosts. “You have been most gracious, Your Lordship. On behalf of my wife and myself, I humbly thank ye for your generosity.”

  “It is my pleasure to honor any kin of the Golden Lion.” The duke stroked his black beard, his gaze made a quick pass over Taveon’s person, then returned to the courtiers and their dance. The duchess never once looked Taveon in the eyes. Her face could have been carved of stone, so cold was her demeanor.

  While he exchanged niceties with the duke, a serving maid with white-blonde hair refilled the duke’s goblet. Her light blue irises swept into the corners of her eyes to glance directly at Taveon’s midsection while she did her duty. She made no effort to hide her interest in his obvious arousal.

  “Danaë.” The duke’s tone was short. He brought the maid close, no doubt scolding her for her behavior, but when she scurried away, she once again ran her gaze over Taveon’s person.

  Brazen drab!

  As the music wound down, the duke rose and adjusted his red and gold doublet. “It has been a taxing evening. I’m certain you are anxious to retire. I trust your accommodations are to your liking?”

  “Aye. Verra much so.” Anticipation crawled up Taveon’s spine and raised the small hairs on his nape.

  “Then, please, do not let me keep you from your wife.”

  Finally free to escort Viviana from the festivities, he waited for the final chord, then snatched her out of Monroe’s grasp and whisked her out of the Great Hall.

  “M’laird, is something amiss?” Viviana held her skirt in front of her and jogged to keep his pace.

  His breathing quickened.

  Shite, mon! Restrain yourself. His conduct was nothing short of savage, and Viviana was sure to regard his silence as temper. When had he lost all ability to think?

  “M’laird, please.” She stumbled.

  Taveon caught her and pushed her against a hanging tapestry beside a pitch torch. He cupped her nape and dove into her mouth, raking over her tongue in fast swirling movements.

  Sweet Venus! She tasted as good as she smelled—sweet, tangy, exotic.

  She clutched the flaps of his doublet and pulled him closer. Standing on her toes, she widened her jaw and met his kiss with the same aggression. Then all at once, she pushed him away. Her breaths were audible and every bit as ragged as his own. “Too fast.”

  Heat scorched through his veins and set his fingertips afire. Taveon put space between them and fisted his shaking hands. “Forgive me. I’m behaving like—”

  “Like Luciano,” she finished for him.

  Damn-it-to-Hell! While he was deserving of an insult, he didn’t want to be compared to her previous husbands. Not this night. “Come. I have something to show ye.”

  He set her hand on his sleeve and led her to their chamber. The door squeaked open and a rush of sweet, warm air coated his face. Vincent had done well. A fire blazed in the hearth, lighting the chamber from various angles through the reflective glass. A four poster bed sat on the north wall draped in purple and gold silks, and a velvet settee replaced the single chair that previously sat in the middle of the chamber.

  Viviana reached for his hand, but he withheld his vision from her. Taking care not to touch her skin, Taveon guided her inside and closed the door with a resounding clip. He set her an arm’s length away from the looking glass, positioned himself partially behind her, and only then did he reach for her hand.

  He looked upon their reflection, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and waited for her to see him.

  Her lashes fluttered, her grip tightened around his hand, and she gasped.

  For long moments they stood in silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. Emotions flooded him—desire, longing… hope.

  Viviana reached up and touched the glass where his reflection stared back at him. “It is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  He captured her hand and held it to his shaven cheek. “I thought ye might like it, so I had the duke’s steward prepare the chamber while we supped.”

  A tear fell from her lashes. “You did this for me?”

  He pressed his lips to her temple, never once drawing his eyes away from their reflection. “I did this for us.”

  Turning her toward him, he closed his eyes and brushed his lips over hers. “I want ye to watch me make love to ye, so ye will know ye have but one husband.” Over her shoulder, he looked into his own eyes, wanting nothing more than to find a place in his wife’s memory. “Know my image, Venus. And when I close my eyes let my face be the only one ye see.”

  He kissed her with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed. Something in that kiss pushed Da’s warnings into the shadows of his conscience, and it was only then that he felt the walls of his guarded heart crumble. He drew her bottom lip between his teeth and slid his tongue inside where he danced with a freedom he’d sought the whole of his life.

  “Taveon,” she whispered into his mouth and pushed his doublet over his shoulders.


  All too eager to aid her, he freed himself of his outerwear and tunic, baring his skin for her caress. Everywhere her fingers touched, her lips followed, laving his chest with delicate kisses. He watched her in the mirror and felt the swirl of her tongue around his nipple. Then she blew and bit the nubbin of flesh, while her other hand explored his back.

  Grinding his teeth against the blaze exploding in his loins, he untied each of the tiny ribbons following the curve of her spine until he was able to push her gown over her shoulders.

  She straightened and caught the front of her bodice before it fell. “You will go slow and treat me with the dignity I deserve.”

  “Aye, m’lady,” he agreed, feeling the sting of her reprimanded for his earlier actions in the corridor.

  Her head angled, presenting him with that succulent curve he’d wanted to taste earlier. He drew a path up her neck and suckled her earlobe. “I should warn ye. If your seduction involves a long drawn-out courtship of kisses, I will most likely spend myself before I get ye to the bed.”

  He expected a gasp or mayhap a “pish”. What he didn’t expect was the blatant contact of her hand wrapped around his hard cock through his braies. His pulse instantly pounded in his bollocks.

  With shocking speed, Viviana pushed her gown over her wide hips and kicked it across the floor. She blew a breath, swiped a curl from her eyes, and then poised herself in front of him. “Does that help?”

  He laughed at her eagerness and turned her back toward the mirror. “It might, if ye werenae still buried beneath two more layers of silk. What is this?” He slid his fingers over a rigid garment holding her breasts high in presentation.

  “It is a corset, and I have no idea how to take it off.”

  “How did ye get it on?” He spun her full circle, searching for the fastenings, but none were visible.