Rogue of the Isles (32 page)

“Did you shay shh…omething?”

His eyes travelled over her slowly, and then he closed them and rubbed his temples. “Ye had best cover yerself with the plaid.”

“Why? I am hoth.” She waggled an impish finger at him as he opened his eyes. “Do you not feel the heat?”

That funny sound came from him again, and Mari decided it was rather intriguing. She inched closer, tilting her head to study him—which would be easier if he held still—and then giggled.

He gave her a wary look. “What?”

“I wanth to kissch you.”

“Ye are verra drunk.”

“Perhaps.” Mari nodded—rather sagely, she thought—“but I still wanth to kissch you.”

She made a rather awkward lunge toward him. Jamie caught her, holding her arms tightly to her side with one of his while the other hand pressed her head against his shoulder, and he rocked her gently.

“Go to sleep,” he said.

When Mari woke, it took a moment to realize where she was. Embers of the banked fire glowed softly in the hearth, and the purplish haze of predawn hung in the air. The wind no longer howled like a furious pack of wolves, and she was cocooned in a blanket of warmth.

Warmth not only came from the plaid that covered her.

As her senses awakened, she became aware of a strong arm around her waist, bracing her against a hard body that radiated its own heat. Mari lay motionless, allowing herself to absorb the feeling. Her head rested on Jamie’s other arm, and his breath was soft and warm near her ear. One of his thighs was over hers as well, effectively pinning her to him. She shifted slightly and felt something thick and hard stir against her backside.

Turning onto her back, she caught Jamie’s eyes, gleaming gold in the faint light from the embers, watching her intently. She smiled sleepily. “How long have you been awake?”

“Nae long.” Jamie brushed a tangled wisp of her hair aside and propped himself up on his elbow. “How is yer head?”

“Fine. Should it not be?”

Jamie chuckled. “For a lass nae used to
uisge-beatha
ye have a fine, hard head.”

“A hard head? Are you telling me I am stubborn?”

The chuckle deepened. “Ye are that, but I meant ye are handling the effects of the whisky well. Or, mayhap, ye are still drunk?”

“I am nae—I am
not
drunk. I did not have that much.” In the near darkness, she would have missed his raised eyebrow if his face had not been mere inches from hers. “I did not,” she emphasized.

“Nae? Do ye remember what ye said?”

Thank goodness dawn had not broken or Jamie would have seen the telltale blush she felt wash over her. She remembered very well what she had said—and almost done. What she
still
wanted to do. But if Jamie thought to bedevil her about it, she would turn the tables on him. “Perhaps you could tell me?”

His voice changed slightly, all trace of the chuckling gone. “Ye said ye wanted to kiss me.”

“I did?”

“Aye.”

“Did you take advantage of that?”

“Nae.”

“Why not?”

“I dinnae take advantage of drunk lasses.”

Mari took a deep breath and felt a slight tremor of anticipation in her tummy. “I am not drunk now.”

He looked momentarily confused, and then his eyes widened. “What are ye saying?”

Oh, Lord. Jamie was going to win this battle after all. He was going to make her
ask
. Maybe she should not. If she had any sense at all, she would crawl out from this precarious position on all fours, get dressed and demand to be taken home. It really was what she should do. Already, she could hear Effie scolding her, and Aunt Agnes would probably swoon if she knew what Mari was contemplating. And certainly, if she were in London, she would not even consider… Mari looked at Jamie’s full, sensual mouth so close to hers and felt his body heat under the plaid that still covered most of them. Her own body started tingling in strange places. “I want you to kiss me.”

He smiled and bent down to brush his lips across hers. “Like this?”

“No.”

“Nae?”

“No.
More
. I want
more
.”

Jamie hesitated, his eyes searching her face. “Do ye ken what ye are asking?”

Mari wasn’t sure she
kenned
at all, only that her body felt as though thousands of tiny needles were pricking her skin, making her itch and long to be touched. She had no words to explain it. Instead, she wrapped her hands around Jamie’s neck and tugged his head down.

He moved so suddenly, she scarce had time to draw breath before his mouth was on hers, lips firmly engaging hers while his tongue deepened the kiss, filling her mouth with his unique taste, then withdrawing to kiss her lightly, teasing her with mere brushes of his lips, causing her to mewl softly in want. Mari felt his smile against her cheek as he rained butterfly kisses across her brow and eyelids and then along the other cheek. Jamie brushed over her mouth again, then slid his tongue slowly along her upper lip and even more leisurely along her lower one before he sucked it into his mouth.

Dawn broke as Jamie continued playing with her, although Mari was hardly aware of it, too lost in all the marvelous sensations she was experiencing. A low moan escaped her as Jamie nibbled her ear, and she pressed her body against his, needing the closeness.

This time, the groan came from Jamie as he slid his hand down her neck, caressing her shoulder in slow strokes, and moved downward toward her breast. Cupping it in his palm, he kneaded gently, eliciting small whimpers of response that grew louder as he increased the pressure. Mari gasped when his thumb flicked over her nipple, the thin material of the chemise causing delightful friction and causing it to tighten.

Jamie trailed kisses along her throat while his deft fingers made quick work of the chemise’s lacing, sliding it off one shoulder and exposing her small birthmark. Mari felt the slightest swoosh of cool air against her bared breast before Jamie’s warm, wet mouth closed over the hardened peak, his tongue flicking the puckered nub back and forth until Mari was ready to scream in ecstasy, and then he began to suckle.

Instinctively, Mari arched her back to let him take more of her and ran her fingers through his hair, pressing him closer, never wanting this exquisite sensation to end.

And then she screamed as the door flew open.

Duncan and Broc stood in the doorway with several men behind them.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jamie muttered a curse as he pulled the tartan to cover Mari while leaping to his feet in one fluid move. At least he still had the borrowed breeches on.

“What the hell are ye doing here?” he demanded as Broc leered at him. His uncle seemed stunned and the men behind them—dressed in MacLean plaid—strained for a better look. Jamie moved in front of Mari. Even though she was covered, he didn’t want anyone ogling her. “Why are ye here?” he asked again.

Duncan found his voice. “We were searching for the lass.”

Jamie studied him. “Ye were nae part of the search party yesterday.”

“We didnae get back to the castle until late,” his uncle explained. “When Ian told us the English woman had nae returned from her ride, Broc remembered her saying she wanted to see the abandoned crofts, so we set off. We only got as far as the MacLeans, though, before the storm got too bad to see.”

That was plausible, Jamie supposed, although he didnae think either his uncle or Broc would care to put themselves in danger, especially for an Englishwoman. He looked past them at the other men. “Why did ye bring a group of MacLeans with ye?”

“To help us search.”

Jamie had an uneasy feeling about that. If Broc had deliberately planted the seed for Mari to go searching for empty crofts, kenning full well a storm was brewing that would put her in danger, then having the MacLeans as witnesses when her frozen body was found would free Broc of any suspicious intent. The mon was clever enough to think of it.

“I thank our neighbors,” Jamie said, “but the lass is fine.”

“Aye, we can see that.” Broc snickered, and several of the men behind him did too. “’Tis looking like the lass had a warm bed last night in spite of the storm.”

The men guffawed again only to quickly silence themselves as Jamie reached Broc in three strides, grabbed him by his collar and pinned him to the doorframe before he could reach for his dirk buried beneath the heavy cloak. “If ye insult Mari once more, ye will be picking yer teeth from the dirt.” Jamie put his forearm across Broc’s throat, forcing him to lift his chin. “Do ye understand me?”

Broc glared back at him, and for a minute, Jamie thought he’d make another remark—which would suit Jamie just fine. It would give him great satisfaction to put his fist in the mon’s face, but Broc finally gave a small nod and Jamie released him.

“We didnae come here to fight,” Duncan said as the thunder of hooves was felt vibrating on the frozen ground.

Everyone turned to look as a massive whirlwind of snow rolled across the glen, subsiding near the tree line where Ian emerged with Bridget, Brodie and several other MacLeod men. Bridget slid off her horse before it had stopped and ran toward the cottage while the MacLeans mingled with the MacLeods, filling them in.

She brushed past Duncan and Broc and came inside. “Is Mari—?”

“She is fine,” Jamie said, gesturing to where Mari lay curled in a covered heap on the floor. Not even her head was showing, and he hoped she wasn’t crying. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, but the lass was nae dressed

Bridget glanced about the room, taking in the whole scene in one sweep. Turning, she shooed the men toward the door as though they were a yard full of chickens. “Oafs!” she said. “Mari needs a wee bit of privacy, can ye nae see that? Be gone. Ye, too,” she said to Jamie, taking his arm and propelling him toward the door. “A lady needs to be shown respect, nae be gawked at.”

“’Tis a little late for that,” someone said. Jamie glared at the small crowd of men, but no one indicated who had made the remark. If he found out, the mon would be gone.

He turned a troubled look at the now-closed door. Bridget might be able to soothe things over with Mari, but it would nae be so easy with the rest of the clan. With the MacLeans as witness to what
looked
like had taken place—
would
probably have taken place if they hadna been interrupted—Mari was now consigned to the status of a mere wench. Unless…

Jamie set his jaw. Mari wouldna like it, but he knew what he must do.

The ride back to the castle was a strange mix of silence and noise. Silence surrounded Mari as Jamie rode to her right, Bridget to her left and Brodie behind while Ian led the group back. The other MacLeods along with the MacLeans trailed them, and that was where the noise came from.

It wasn’t loud, just a constant hum of conversation, but Mari had the distinct feeling the talk was about her. Or rather about Jamie and her and what had taken place overnight in the cottage.

Sweet heaven. Just the thought of Jamie’s kisses made her lightheaded. He had made love to her mouth for endless time—teasing, playfully nipping, retreating, coming back…then sweeping her close while he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth fully with his tongue, leaving her no doubt of his desire. And his hands…how could such large, calloused hands be so gentle? Jamie knew how to touch every inch of her—well, the parts he had gotten to—how to stroke lightly with his fingertips, how to palm her breast and knead, increasing and decreasing the pressure, when to pinch a nipple lightly and when to soothe that sensitive peak. How the rest of her body had yearned for more of his touch as well. Mari would have given Jamie her virginity last night.

What had she been thinking?

Equal parts of remorse and embarrassment hit Mari like a fresh gust of snow. Remorse for getting herself quite foxed and practically throwing herself at Jamie. She had acted like a lightskirt, and worse, she had shamelessly wanted Jamie this morning. Words would never describe the embarrassment she felt when all those men had burst through the door, finding her practically naked with Jamie’s mouth on her breast.

But worse—much worse than her own shame—was that she had disgraced Jillian with her scandalous conduct. Mari knew Broc and Duncan were not the only Scots who mistrusted the English, and Jillian had worked hard to gain their trust. As the laird’s wife, she needed to be respected, and Mari had managed to tarnish her sister’s reputation because she had acted like a hoyden. What was worse, Mari had enjoyed it. She could not claim otherwise.

Jamie was strangely quiet as he rode beside her. His face looked somber, and Mari wondered if he regretted what had taken place. Ian had said very little to either of them, but he was as grim-faced as Jamie, and Mari was afraid the brothers would have an argument over what had happened—or almost happened.

Trepidation grew within Mari as they approached the castle. The MacLeans took their leave, galloping off to their own holdings, no doubt to spread word of what had gone on that morning and, from the looks of the MacLeod men who urged their horses to a trot through the gate, it would not be long before every servant at Ian’s castle heard the news as well. Facing Jillian was going to be hard, but Mari had to do it before her sister heard it from someone else.