TamingaHighlandDevil Page 2

  “How many bairns can the elder Mackay give ye before she can no longer produce?”

  “I suspect a half-dozen or more if I shackle her to the bed and get her with child every year ’til her womb is auld and withered.” The sarcasm in his voice didn’t deter Mam in the least.

  “Marry the younger, more fertile Mackay. If she is not to your liking, then ye can take a mistress. No woman will expect a man of your status to be faithful. ’Tis the way of things.”

  Magnus cocked his head over his shoulder to give Mam a questioning look. “Ye knew Da was unfaithful?”

  She rolled her dark eyes. “Of course. And I was happy to send your father’s mistresses to his solar.” Her demeanor seemed to soften with this statement. The wrinkles at her eyes smoothed. Her brow became less furrowed. “Not every woman enjoys her conjugal duties.”

  The direction of their conversation soured his stomach twofold. For one, he no longer wished to hear the grim tales of his sire’s marriage bed, and for another, he refused to take a wife who didn’t enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. He crossed his solar and kissed Mam’s forehead, feeling a great deal more sympathy for her than he ever had before.

  “Dinnae look at me like I’m a leper. Think ye there is another reason men and women of nobility retain separate sleeping quarters?” She crossed her arms, refusing his compassion. “I’m not alone in my thinking.”

  “’Tis enough. Ye’ve spoken your peace.” He guided her toward the door. “I’ll heed your advice as I make my decision.”

  “Verra well,” Mam conceded with an audible exhale. “Sleep well, son.”

  Once he was free of Mam and her opinions, he sent for the younger Mackay and nursed a goblet of gooseberry wine while he awaited her arrival. He considered himself a good judge of character, especially when it came to women, but he wasn’t choosing a maid for the evening. He was choosing a mate for life.

  Of course, he wanted someone to share his bed with ardent enthusiasm, but he also wanted his wife to possess other qualities—intelligence, tolerance, devotion. S’truth, he wanted a woman who could help him carry the burdens his brothers had left him. Not that his blood kin were burdens, there were just so damned many of them. Unfortunately, the legitimate bairns were all lasses. He wanted sons as much as Mam did, but he also wanted to be around long enough to watch them grow.

  Ian Mackay had already urged Magnus to schedule a meeting with the leaders of their warbands. The man was bloodthirsty and eager to avenge his father, but Magnus intended to avoid a war with Clan Ross at all costs.

  A knock at the door pulled him out of his musings.

  “Enter,” he commanded and set his goblet atop the side table.

  When Lady Vanna stepped inside his chamber and closed the door, his body responded to her beauty like a flame to a charred wick. She was stunning with silken black hair, lush lips and flawless skin, and he had nary a doubt the body hidden beneath her pale yellow robe would be tight and firm with her youth.

  His bollocks tingled with expectancy. His cock swelled to stone. He squirmed in the chair and wished he’d gratified himself while he’d awaited her audience. If the lass turned out to be a virgin, he’d already decided he wouldn’t take her maidenhood lest he marry her.

  “Ye sent for me, m’laird.” She reached for the ties binding her robe. “Would ye like me in the bed?”

  “Patience, little bit.” Magnus smiled and gestured toward the cushioned hassock in front of him. He welcomed her eagerness, but he would know her mind before he explored her body.

  She floated gracefully across his solar then settled atop a round footstool and crossed her hands atop her knees. Her fine-boned frame and long, slender neck added to the perfection of her pose. Everything about her demeanor was measured, practiced, refined, down to the arc in her wrists.

  He suspected she’d been taught submission, but the boldness of her gaze as she held his stare told him she resisted such obedience. Still and all, she held her tongue and awaited his instruction. ’Twas good she knew her place, yet didn’t fear him.

  “Tell me, Lady Vanna, do ye know your letters?”

  Her chin raised a half inch. “I’m well-read. I also have a mind for numbers. And I speak four different languages.”

  “Ye were schooled abroad?” He handed her a goblet of watered wine, hoping to loosen her rigid stance as well as her tongue.

  “Nay.” She didn’t elaborate, nor did she accept his offering.

  “Then your father hired tutors?”

  One of her eyes narrowed, be it ever so slight. “My sister took charge of my studies when my mother…left.”

  “Then your sister is educated as well?”

  “She is.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She is strict and overprotective.” Quick to criticize, Lady Vanna rushed on with animated features—wide doe eyes, enunciated words, sharp hand movements. “Effie smiles very little and laughs even less.”

  “Mayhap responsibility has stolen her merriment.” He knew the weight of that burden all too well. “Does she have bairns to care for as well?”

  Lady Vanna’s small nostrils widened, her lips thinned into a straight line and a spark of indignation flickered in her brown eyes. Her mask of indifference crumbled, revealing her obvious displeasure in his defense of her sister. “If ye are interested in learning about Effie, I wonder why ye sent for me instead of her?”

  The lass had been in his company for mere minutes, and already he’d found the temper he suspected she tried—without success—to hide. He didn’t favor her with a quick response. Instead, he settled into the chair and took two long sips of wine while he watched her fidget. “I sent for ye because I thought it fair ye have the first opportunity to prove why ye are better suited to be my wife.”

  The shift in her façade came instantly. Her pink tongue darted out to gloss her lips. Her eyelids lowered to half closed. Oh, he knew this face. ’Twas seduction.

  “I possess the blood of two noble sires.” She stood and stepped between his spread knees as she untied the laces binding her robe. “I’m in the bloom of my youth.” She opened the seams of silk to reveal small, pert breasts, but she wasted no time teasing him with subtle glimpses before she discarded her robe over her shoulders. Standing naked before him without a morsel of timidity, she ran her palms over narrow hips then plucked at the tips of her tawny nipples. “And I’m confident I can match your sexual appetite while striving to give ye an heir.”

  Magnus’ cock no longer cared about knowing her mind. His bollocks concurred, but one question needed answering before he allowed himself to accept what she so willingly offered. “Are ye still a maid, lass?”

  She hesitated.

  “Dinnae lie.” His gaze lowered to the small triangle of black curls decorating her womanhood. “I will know.”

  “I am not, m’laird.” She settled on her knees and easily found his cock beneath his robe. When she wrapped her hand around the shaft, his fingertips dug into the wooden arms of the chair. “Given your reputation, I wanted to be experienced when I came to your bed.”

  The words to argue her justification sat on his tongue, but he swallowed them the moment her plush lips spread over the head of his cock. She took half his length into her hot mouth without effort. Tongue whipping, she bobbed rhythmically up and down his sensitive pole like an experienced whore.

  She watched him as she pleasured him, alternating her speed based on the volume of his moans. Sweat beaded over his scalp and gathered around his neck as she tugged and sucked at him with the most exquisite pressure. Then she angled her head and thrust downward, shoving his cock head into her throat. Her bottom teeth scraped the thick vein at the root of him, her nose buried in his groin, the sides of her throat constricted around him like a serpent squeezing its prey.

  Tantalizing zings of pleasure shot through his erection and coiled thick and heady in his sac. He groaned and wove his fingers into the masses of black silk tickling his thighs. His mind yell
ed, Pull her off! But his mind no longer led his actions.

  When he thrust upward, she stretched her mouth wider, enveloped the base of his shaft with her tongue and allowed him to pump in earnest.

  Oh, she would make him a good wife, a passionate wife, a willful lover.

  His head fell back. His eyelids slid shut. A prisoner of his body’s lust, he could do naught to stop her when she slithered up his body and crawled into the chair with him. Knees wedged into the cushion beside his hips, she positioned his cock at her entrance, then sank atop him.

  “Faugh!” He’d been dangerously close to spilling his seed into her delicate mouth, and now that she’d wrapped her hot woman’s flesh around his throbbing member, he feared he would come prematurely. She bounced up and down, grinding her velvety nock against him, torturing him anew.

  “I daresay I suit ye well, m’laird,” she whispered in his ear, then nipped his lobe and opened the seams of his robe, exposing the jagged lines crisscrossing his chest. A short pause interrupted the rhythm of her movements. She turned her head and closed her eyes.

  Her reaction to his scars angered him, stole his passion, but his body sought finality.

  She reached for the back of the chair and slammed her bottom hard atop him over and over, creating a scorching friction. “Come with me. Seek your release.”

  The pleasure overwhelmed him. The pain insisted he give her what she wanted. He gripped her hips as pulsing sensations thrummed through his cock. His heart thundered. His throat dried. His resolve shattered when her muscles tightened and cinched and seized him until he came inside her.

  He growled, grunted and shook with each burst of seed he sprayed against the wall of her womb.

  He couldn’t say how long he sat waiting for the tingles to subside and the spots to dissipate, but when he opened his eyes, he stared into the face of a seemingly satisfied woman. Albeit, she hadn’t broken a sweat. She wasn’t the least bit flushed. And he couldn’t say for certain whether or not she’d enjoyed an orgasm.

  Yet, the grin pulling at the corners of lips he’d yet to taste was one of victory.

  “We will be verra good together, m’laird,” she announced with confidence before she eased off his spent member and reached for her robe.

  Chapter Three

  Effie’s mind drifted as she methodically dipped a candle in and out of the wax. While she congratulated herself on successfully denying Laird Sutherland’s summons for three days, she knew ’twas unlikely she could hide from the man the remainder of her time at Dunrobin.

  However, there were a multitude of reasons why she needed to try. For one, Ian had instructed her to avoid the man at all costs. For two, Laird Sutherland was well-reputed for his skill with women, which made him a lecher in Effie’s opinion, and she held no desire to be wed to another faithless man. And thirdly, the sight of him alone made her tingle and shiver and ache. Just thinking about him made her swell like a bleating doe in heat.

  Oh, it had been far too long since she’d been touched by a man, which was exactly why she needed to keep a distance from Laird Sutherland. If he came within two steps of her, she would likely let him have his way with her. She squirmed on the bench seat and forced her attention back to the chandler’s chatter.

  “That’ll be the last one this day, m’lady.” The elderly gaunt woman used a poker to spread the dying coals in the hearth and glanced at the pegged walls striped with candles. “I’ll be returning to my cot-house after the embers cool a bit more. Ye are welcome to join me for sup, if it pleases ye.”

  Effie smiled at the chandler, deciding the woman was more agreeable than the weaver had been the day before and accepted the offer. “Thank ye, Sylvie. That would please me verra much.”

  Sylvie continued to fill the silence with talk of kin, cats and candles, the same as she’d done for the past several hours. She was alone in the world, her bairns all grown and gone, her grandchildren, too. Effie knew all too well what it felt like to be alone and welcomed the prospect of providing her company for the remainder of the eve. Not to mention, Effie held no desire to return to the keep where she would be forced to listen to Vanna boast about how big the laird’s cock was. Jealousy ground its big toe into Effie’s gut, making the supportive smiles she offered her sister more difficult to wear.

  Mayhap it was Vanna’s confident bragging that made Effie want to vie for Laird Sutherland’s affections. Or mayhap there was a deeper seed she’d been nurturing for years—a seed Besse had planted.

  The door whipped opened and with it came a great gust of icy air. But it was not the spitting snowflakes that raised gooseflesh on her arms.

  Laird Sutherland bent low to clear the doorframe when he entered, and his intimidating scowl sent Sylvie into a tizzy.

  “M’laird.” The chandler bowed as deeply as her old bones would allow. “We were just—”

  “Leave us,” he cut Sylvie off sharply, and Effie might have thought him a tyrant for being harsh had he not wrapped his own fur around Sylvie’s shoulders before sending her out into the cold. He closed the door and turned his scowl on Effie. “I sent for ye two days past, and ye did not come. I sent for ye again yestereve, and ye ignored my request again. I would know why?”

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Still, she held fast to a face of indifference. “I have no intention of being a pawn in your game, m’laird.” She stood and hung the twin candles on the last open peg then willed her hands to stop shaking before turning back. “Furthermore, ye have been betrothed to my sister for six months. My presence here shouldn’t have changed the agreement ye made with my brother.”

  The fury fell away from his stiff posture. He scratched the nape of his neck. “I dinnae understand. I would think ye would relish the opportunity to position yourself as my wife.”

  The tiniest of chuckles escaped her throat. “Ye are more vain than I had given ye credit.”

  His brows angled sharply and his scowl returned. “Ye are bold to insult me.”

  “Might I speak frankly, m’laird?”

  He nodded a single time, widened his stance and crossed his thick arms over his chest.

  She drew a breath, but the words wouldn’t come. How did she explain to him that she wasn’t the type of woman who exuded rapture? She’d been a good wife to Gavin, but their marriage bed had lacked a certain…creativity. Not once had she screamed herself hoarse or broken the bed frame. He’d mount her, spend himself inside her and that was verra much the end of things.

  “I’m waiting.” Laird Sutherland drummed his fingers on his arm.

  “I cannot compete with Vanna in the bedchamber, and I’ll not subject myself to ridicule, knowing I will lose.”

  “Ye wound me, m’lady.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Your opinion of me is tainted by my reputation.”

  “It is,” she admitted without hesitation.

  “Ye should know I sent for ye so I might know ye better.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What is it ye would like to know?”

  Laird Sutherland leaned against the trestle table and rubbed his unshaven jaw. “Have ye bairns?”

  “I did. Leena died in infancy. Ann-Elise lost her life to a fever when she was just eight winters. And Bretton died in a border raid alongside his father.” Salty tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. Her children had been the light of her existence, but now they were gone and she was alone.

  “It must pain ye deeply to have outlived them.” His demeanor softened.

  “It does.” She swallowed her sorrow.

  “Does the prospect of filling your arms with more bairns not appeal to ye?”

  Anger straightened her spine instantly. “My children cannot be replaced with new ones.” She snatched her mantle off a peg in the wall and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ve lived my life, m’laird.’Tis Vanna’s turn now.”

  Laird Sutherland stepped in her path, blocking her escape. His size might have intimidated her if she hadn’t fallen under th
e spell of his scent. Wood-spice and man floated into her nose and held her in place long enough for him to touch her. He traced the line of her jaw with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

  “Ye speak as though ye are kissing the grave.” He held her cheek. His gaze dropped to her lips. “When I look at ye, I dinnae see a woman finished with life. I see a woman waiting to embrace it.”

  Quivers racked her body. Zings of lust coiled low in her belly. Oh, she wanted to succumb to the man. She wanted to taste his lips and feel the weight of him pressed against her. But it would be a fleeting affair. In the end he would choose Vanna, and Effie would live in shame the remainder of her life knowing she’d bedded her sister’s husband.

  She pulled away from him and tied her mantle at her neck. “Forgive me, m’laird, but I suspect what ye see is a woman, and this is all.”

  “I would wager I see more than ye do.” The line between their gazes burned hot and heavy until Effie looked away. She was strong enough to crush this attraction, but feared her desire for companionship weakened her. He made her want for something she couldn’t have, something she’d yearned for since the day the wars took her husband and son.

  “If ye do not wish to be my wife, then I will accept it as final.”

  “’Tis my wish for ye to marry my sister.” Why did those words feel like a lie?

  “Verra well then.” Laird Sutherland pivoted on his heel. “I will escort ye back to the keep.”

  “Thank ye for the offer, but I accepted an invitation to dine with Sylvie.” Effie flipped the hood of her mantle over her head when he opened the door. A harsh wind coiled around her as she stepped onto a snow-covered path. “Good eve, m’laird.”

  He bowed, turned away from her and strode toward the keep. Shards of ice sliced her exposed skin, but she was accustomed to its bitter sting. What caught her unguarded was the cold numbing her insides while she watched the man disappear inside a swirl of snowflakes.

  She hoped Vanna might one day appreciate what Effie had done for her this night, but doubted the girl would ever know the depth of her sacrifice. But that’s exactly what it was. She was sacrificing the chance at a new start. She was giving up the prospect of having a home, a husband and a family.