The Intended Page 11

  Edward stared at her. “Excitement? Aye. And danger, too.”

  “I thought you lived for danger, cousin.” Catherine brought the cup to her lips and let her pink tongue lick seductively at the edge. His eyes never left her mouth. “I am quite certain you’d find the rewards worthy of the risk.”

  “I am certain, as well.”

  “Then perhaps, tonight...”

  “Catherine, Edward!”

  Her uncle’s voice cut through their talk like Lenten sleet. Shutting her eyes, she tried to control her sudden anger, her annoyance at his meddling. As Edward stood, she opened them, turning with the look of a demure and obedient niece. “Do you require something of me, uncle?”

  Norfolk pushed his chair sharply away from the table, and the Lord Great Chamberlain followed suit.

  “Have the documents sent up, Essex, if you would.” Norfolk said to the other man, a note of satisfaction obvious in his tone.

  The Lord Chamberlain nodded and bowed to Catherine. “Your servant, mistress.”

  “It’s settled,” the duke of Norfolk said, rubbing his hands as Essex and his entourage exited the chamber. “Assuming the negotiations are concluded in Flanders regarding the queen’s future, you’re to wed at the end of July. And apparently it makes no difference to the king whether it takes place here, at Kenninghall, or on the royal barge in the Thames!”

  Catherine nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Edward,” the duke said, rolling up the parchment on the table. “I believe it would be highly politic of you to marry Jaime after the king and Catherine marry.”

  “Whatever you think best, Father,” Edward replied indifferently.

  “Besides,” Norfolk continued, “we still need to work out the details of her grandfather’s estates. And I don’t know that the bloody Macphersons are about to give up the lands in Kent without a bit of arm twisting.”

  “Very well,” Edward agreed, glancing up at Catherine’s face. Her skin was livid with rage. Her eyes were daggers of fury.

  “Come along, Catherine, Edward.” The duke started for the door without a backward glance. “We’ve a great deal to do.”

  “We shall follow along momentarily,” the knight said, trying to keep his voice even as his father passed out of the room.

  “You are to marry?” she hissed under her breath as soon as the door closed behind the departing duke.

  He nodded, “Aye, why not?”

  “To Jaime? A half-blooded Scot?”

  “To our cousin,” he answered quietly.

  “She is no cousin of mine. She’s a self-serving prig. She is a Scot...barely more than an animal! She knows nothing of propriety. She mixes servants and masters, for God’s sake!”

  Edward looked away, trying to distance himself from her anger.

  “She is a faster worker than I thought.” Catherine slammed her cup on the table. “Tell me, how is she in bed?”

  He ignored her question. “We should be going.”

  “She must be foul...otherwise you would have come bragging to me!” She sniggered viciously. “It must be her money.”

  His face blackened, and his eyes were narrow slits of steel, but Catherine was too angry to notice. She and Edward were lovers long before she had left for court. He had taken her first when she was just fourteen. And he had come to her bed every day since he’d arrived here. She didn’t care a jot whom he married. But to hear from the old duke, and not from him, that he was to wed to that half-Scot, half-French hussy! Coward, she thought.

  “Well, dear cousin, I never thought this day would come.”

  “Marriage between us was never a possibili...” Edward began.

  “Marriage? Hah!” Her mirthless laugh had the cutting edge of a blade. “Nay, I mean the day when you would bend to being dependent on your wife. To ask her father, a beast of a Scot, for a spending allowance. To have them provide you with a home.” A nasty smile appeared on her face. “Tell me, does she already carry your balls in her money purse?”

  “Catherine,” he growled threateningly.

  “Perhaps you’d prefer to be living in Scotland. It is no secret at court that once the old duke dies, your brother Surrey will be cutting you off without a farthing.”

  She watched Edward’s hands curl into fists at his side—his jaw clenched, the muscles on the side of his face twitching nervously. Well, she thought with satisfaction, she had struck close to home.

  “The second son,” she continued, her tone thick with feigned pity. “Poor Edward, the boy needs to marry a rich girl to survive. Ah, desperate Edward, selling his pride and placing his neck under his enemy’s foot, just so they will pay his keep.”

  She leaned forward and hooked her fingers into his belt. Her whisper was barely audible when she spoke to him. “On second thought, I could take care of you, cousin. Do not forget, I am to become your queen. And you must gratify me as I please. Aye, please me well, Edward, and I perhaps will give you enough to keep you out of the Scot’s clutches.”

  Without another word, Catherine spun on her heel and started for the door, never seeing the gaze, cold and ruthless, that he turned upon her.

  Chapter 15

  Jaime tried to leap from the bed, but Malcolm’s firm grip on her arm held her in place.

  “Have you gone mad?” she cried.

  “I don’t believe so. Do I look mad?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “But you...you are a widower...”

  “You think widowers swear off women when their wives die?”

  “But what of your grief? Your loss? You cannot just...just think of such things...such a short time after her death!”

  “By the Rood, Jaime, ‘tis been over a year since Flora died. Under the most tragic of circumstances, a man could not be expected...” As he paused, Malcolm’s face was calm and his gaze direct. “I never even bedded Flora. In the eyes of the law, I suppose we were never truly married. We never consummated our...”

  “Please,” she said exasperatedly. “You don’t have to tell me the details. But I think ‘tis quite insensitive of you to harbor such thoughts.”

  He lifted himself off his pillow and pulled her closer to his chest. “Still my wee, contentious creature,” he whispered softly, inhaling her sweet scent. He had already marked the womanly curves of her body beneath the dresses, the gentle flair of her hips, the full swell of her breasts. “Still quibbling, still quarreling for no reason than to partake of a good brawl.”

  She tried to free herself, but her effort was halfhearted, at best. “No reason?” she challenged, glaring as fiercely as she could at him. “Here you are asking me to give birth to a love child, and you call that no reason?”

  “You’ve no reason to be scared.”

  “I am not scared!”

  “Very well then!” he nodded. “I should tell you I plan to do my share.”

  “Your share?”

  “Aye.” Malcolm nodded with a mischievous smile. “I’ve mended enough to make love to you.” She felt his fingers play ever so slightly over her arm. “I’m certain I’m man enough to bring you pleasure—perhaps you will even call out my name. But you’ll not be asking for more, right off, for I’ll satisfy you, lass. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it immensely.”

  She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. It took her a moment to catch her breath. Could this be happening? She stared as Malcolm shifted his weight and laid his hand on her leg. A bolt of lightning exploded in Jaime’s brain.

  “You are a rogue, a knave, and a scoundrel, Malcolm MacLeod!” she shouted, again squirming in an unsuccessful attempt to get off of the bed. “And if you think you can scare me—or intimidate me with such ill-mannered, churlish prattle, then you have...”

  “I’ve always thought you liked bairns.”

  “I do like bairns! I love children!” She swung around and glowered at him. “So long as they are not offspring of yours, you disgusting, thoughtless, sheep stealing...”

  “You’ll be perfect
for the job,” he interrupted. “You are intelligent and healthy. You’ve a good build.”

  “I am not a horse, Malcolm.”

  “I know, my sweet. If I were looking to produce a colt to be my heir, I would never come to you, lass. As a filly, you were quick enough over short ground, but for a long run...” His voice trailed off doubtfully.

  “I ran you down every time, Malcolm MacLeod, and you know it. And that was over any distance.”

  “That was because I let you,” he answered playfully.

  “Let me?” she asked incredulously. “You used to hide like a snake in a grass.”

  “Aye. And I’ve always known you’d be as tasty as some of those field rats that kept me company while I waited for you to catch up.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in before she began to giggle. “Quite a compliment!” she managed to get out.

  He waved his hand in the air. “Only the best for you, lass!”

  “I never guessed that a MacLeod could be so refined in his wooing.” Jaime looked away from his grinning face and stared straight ahead, trying to wipe the smile from her face. The truth was, she hadn’t felt this happy in years. Simply to be able to sit with him, to talk with him. Her smile disappeared without a trace as she recalled that this moment could not last. The reality of their situation lurked right outside this closed door. Her tone was more restrained when she next spoke. “Where were we?” she asked.

  “I believe, lass, you were getting ready to accept my offer.”

  She frowned at him, but he laughed and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. Tight against him, she could feel his warmth. Feel her own excitement rising, pulsing through her blood. There was something very familiar about being close to him. Something magical, like a remembered dream. Like the smell of the oat field after the harvest, or the indefinable smell of snow in the air.

  “So then,” she asked, “you’re no longer angry with me?”

  “Nay, Jaime.” He shook his head. “But I believe you are still angry with me.”

  She hesitated a moment to answer. He poked her in the side, making her laugh.

  “Answer me, you vixen.”

  “I cannot remain angry with you any longer, Malcolm. Not for today, anyway.”

  One large hand covered two smaller ones flitting nervously in her lap. Her shining eyes, her cascading waves of black satin hair, her sculpted lips; Malcolm was falling for a woman he’d known all his life, but never known. Then her words sank in, jolting him into a new awareness. As if stepping through layers of a fog, he saw her clearly. All the teasing now pushed aside, all the past torments forgotten, his own anger long gone—he now saw Jaime.

  His Jaime. That’s how she’d always referred to herself before. He knew now that he’d always taken her for granted. Jaime was his, and that was a fact. It was all quite clear now. What right had he to place blame on her for the events of these days past. If anyone should shoulder the blame, it must be Malcolm MacLeod, and no other. In his heart, he’d known from the start that Jaime hadn’t betrayed him to these people—she was trying to save his life. And all that, even after the pain he’d caused her on his wedding day.

  That was why she would forgive him only for today. All the angry words, all the names—they were nothing compared to the disappointment she must have endured entering the church and seeing him with another.

  She didn’t have to answer him, he knew the truth. That had been no prank. She had worn that dress for the purpose of marrying him on the Isle of Skye that day. She had always thought of them as two bodies having one soul—intended for each other. And, in truth, he’d never really tried to shake the belief. He had let her go on, dreaming that he, too, had shared that faith. Perhaps he, too, really had known it, tucking the belief away in some dark recess of his mind. And he’d just spent his life waiting for her.

  But when she had gone to France, and he’d faced the problems of the clans in Skye, fate had taken a hand. Marriage to Flora—for the good of his people—was the appropriate course. He was certain it would bring peace to the Isle of Skye and the Hebrides. But he’d been wrong.

  Malcolm reached up and let a strand of her soft hair slide over his fingers. Jaime had come back into his life a woman. A beautiful woman.

  Their eyes met. Jaime knew something was happening to her—to them. Her life’s love of him, shackled and locked away for the past year, was breaking its bonds, escaping the barred cell deep within her. She let her eyes explore his face. His growth of beard. His sensual, unsmiling mouth.

  His voice was soft. “Remember when you were leaving for France—and you came looking for me across the hills?”

  She felt the burning redness creep into her face, and let out a deep sigh. “Oh, please don’t remind me of my wretched behavior. I have reminded myself of it too many times in recent days and...”

  Malcolm ran a gentle hand across her lips to silence her concern.

  “Do you remember, Jaime, how the heather spread up to the crests of the hills and down to the very banks of the River Spey?”

  She nodded slowly and lowered her eyes to her lap. “I had no thoughts of the heather that day, Malcolm.”

  His fingers gently took hold of her chin and lifted it until their eyes met again. “I know, lass. You wanted something from me that I couldn’t give.”

  She felt herself being swept away in the swirling depths of his dark eyes. She was once again that young lass, desperately hoping to be kissed by this man. Her very existence depended on that one touch of his lips to hers.

  “I remember that day all too well,” she whispered finally.

  If he felt any pain, his face never showed it as his strong hands turned her on the bed until they were lying face to face. A delicious shudder shot through her as he raised his hand and touched her face. Her skin tingled, the rushing blood in her head matching the pounding in her chest. As he ran the tips of his fingers over her skin, she leaned her face into his touch. He traced the arch of her brow, the length of her nose—he ran his thumb over her parted lips. Each place, in turn, was left scorched by his touch.

  “Do you remember what you wanted from me then?”

  She nodded.

  “Ask me, Jaime!” he said huskily, raising both hands and threading them into her black tresses. “My bonnie Jaime! Ask me now.”

  Their eyes connected and a lightning bolt of desire filled the space between them.

  “Kiss me, Malcolm.”

  His lips claimed hers in a kiss that shook her with passion. He wrapped her in his arms. Like a drought-stricken flower feeling the first droplets of rain, she reached, she tasted, she straightened, and opened her petals for more. She had waited so long. Clutching at his hair and returning his kiss, she thrilled in the joy of his embrace.

  “My bonnie, bonnie Jaime,” he whispered, drawing back slightly and then taking her with him as he lay back on the bed. “How did I ever let you go?”

  She pulled herself to his side, avoiding his wounds. “I thought I’d lost you forever. How could this be?” she whispered, bringing her face close and brushing her lips against his. “This can only be a dream.”

  “This is no dream.” He turned his body to face her. They lay side by side. Facing each other. Drinking from each other’s lips. Lost in the abundance of feelings that were pouring from their souls.

  Jaime had never been held the way Malcolm was holding her now. Her fingers combed caressingly through his long, brown hair. She traced the soft ridges of his ear, the line of his whiskered jaw. His eyes were focused on hers, and she could see tenderness as well as desire in them.

  His hand smoothed the material of her dress—now stroking her back, now her side, now touching the curve of her hip, the rounded flair of her buttock. Jaime drew in her breath as his hand moved slowly upward, fondling the side of her breast as their lips continued their passionate feast.

  “You’ve grown so bonnie...so womanly,” he growled. “Worthy of a better man than I.” />
  “Kiss me, Malcolm,” she whispered against his lips. “Kiss this woman.”

  The Highlander’s blood, already roaring in his head, surged at the huskiness in her voice. Desire seemed to take on a life of its own, and pushed him to the edge of his control. He rolled toward her, crushing her to him.

  “I want you, Jaime. I want you badly.” His mouth descended in a kiss, demanding and hard.

  His mouth was hot, possessive, carnal. Jaime’s eyes widened as Malcolm’s tongue darted across her full, moist lips, searching for entry and finding access. Before she could fight his invasion, a raw passion exploded within her. Her restraint disappeared in an instant. His thrusting tongue rubbed boldly against hers, daring her to follow.

  It was madness and Malcolm knew it, but he couldn’t stop. She pressing against him, arching her back as he moved from her mouth and trailed his lips downward over her chin and over the skin of her throat. By the Rood, he wanted her. And he would take her, here, in this bed. Her fingers were stroking his bare back with their tips. It didn’t matter that someone else had taken her before him. It hadn’t been her fault. She had thought him lost to her then. He’d been responsible for that, himself.

  Softly, his fingers caressed her ivory skin from her throat down to the round fullness of her breasts. He could feel the warmth of her body, the firm flesh, the trembling shudders that his touch brought on. A moan of pleasure deep in her throat filled him with certainty.

  Now! This moment! This is the time that matters most, he cried silently. And what happens from this moment on! And this point hence, Malcolm vowed, she would be his. Forever into eternity, she’d belong to him.

  He drew down the neckline of her dress until her breasts sprang free. His lips locked on the nipple rising erect at the center of the rose-colored aureole. He heard her gasp and felt her bloom beneath him. Her hands tugged at his hair, pressing his face even tighter to her breast. Then, as he continued to suckle, moving from one nipple to the other, he felt her knee rise instinctively and take possession of his thigh.

  The rush of heat scorching through her body lit Jaime’s senses with explosive energy. Her mind whirled with confusion at these newfound sensations, while her body screamed for more. She arched her back as his tongue laved her breasts, and she lost the ability to breathe as his hand pulled her skirt up over her legs. She gasped with shock and pleasure as his fingers stroked the skin of her legs above her hose. When his hand found the juncture of her thighs, Jaime reveled in the waves of white heat that shot through her and threatened to obliterate all reason.