Her Scottish Groom (30 page)

He did as she asked. He watched her, though, as she moved down his body, kissing and stroking her way to his cock. And she watched him. Watched his chest rise and fall as she nudged his thighs apart to make room for her to crouch. Watched his neck cord as she ran her fingertips over the insides of his thighs. Watched his eyes darken to black as she removed the chemise she had slept in.

When she took the head of his shaft into her mouth, his eyes closed and he sucked in a breath. As she explored the hard flesh with her mouth, he buried his hands in her hair and moaned her name, urging her to go faster and deeper.

Then, panting, he sat up and flipped her over, spreading her wide with shaking hands. “I need to be inside you, Dina.” He poised himself at her entrance,
but although she was willing, her body had too little moisture yet.

Wild-eyed, he lowered his mouth to the apex of her thighs and used his tongue to tease her nub while slipping two fingers inside her.

She groaned as the familiar tension started to build. As soon as the thick digits could plumb the depths of her body easily, he lifted himself over her, positioning his cock once more at the opening of her channel.

She looked up at his beautiful face, now contorted with need and desire. “Come to me, Kier.” And then she gasped as he thrust smoothly inside.

He set an ever-increasing rhythm, pounding in and out of her as he whispered his need of her. She met every movement eagerly, matching herself to him. They mated wildly until he raised himself up on his hands and ground into her with a hoarse cry. His release set off hers and she could only cling to him as tremor after tremor shook her.

They remained joined for a long time afterward. Then Kieran moved to her side and gathered her close, tucking the blankets into a warm cocoon around both of them.

When she opened her eyes again, the shuttered room had chilled and she lay alone in the blankets. She faced the bed.

Golden light came from somewhere, so Kieran must have lit a lantern or candle before he’d left her. She buried her head in her arms, afraid she would start crying.

“Dina? I brought you some breakfast.”

She twisted to her other side. Kieran sat, fully
dressed in a fisherman’s jumper, corduroys, and boots, beside the hearth.

   Amazed, he watched her face light up when she saw him. None of the worldly women he had sought as mistresses had ever looked at him like he brought the morning sun with him. Part of him thrilled at the idea that he meant that much to her.

The rest of him wanted to run in terror.

He nearly hadn’t come back to the cottage this morning. He could have made the excuse of needing to get started on the grim task of moving debris and carrying bodies.

But he had used her so violently last night. He knew he needed to ascertain that he had not frightened her, and that he probably owed her an apology. So now he handed her breakfast and hoped she would not throw it at him.

Instead, she smiled her thanks and started to eat, sneaking wee peeks at him as though she couldn’t believe he sat beside her. She did not appear frightened at all.

But he had to be sure. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed a bite of porridge. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I lost control of myself last night.”

“Oh.” She stared into her empty porridge bowl. “Is it because my behavior disgusted you?”

He sucked in his breath. “No, no, no! Dina, Diantha, look at me.” She did, and he was reminded of the day on the
Columbia
when she’d thought he was about to hit her.

He moved to her side and pulled her into his arms, blankets, bowl, and all. Gazing into her worried eyes, he tried to find words to tell her that inexpert as her mouth had been on him, he had never had a woman touch him with such honesty and care.

He shook his head, caressing the silken skin of her cheek. “You did not disgust me.” Her intense blue gaze bored into his and she seemed to understand what he did not say, for she nestled her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. With a sense of shock he realized that his need for her included moments such as this.

   Diantha chanced to look out of the Herring House window later that day when Kieran was walking by the cart as it carried a few corpses up to the church. His arm supported a redheaded girl carrying something bundled in a shawl and sobbing bitterly. She finished drying the dish she held and slipped out the door, drawn by the devastated expression on his face.

By the time she reached the church, Kieran had disappeared inside, but the girl stood by the door outside, still weeping. The bundle in her arms gave a squawk and she held it to her shoulder tenderly. Her swollen brown eyes met Diantha’s.

She still felt awkward offering sympathy to strangers. “I’m sorry.”

The girl’s pointed chin dipped in acknowledgment. To Diantha’s relief, Kieran reappeared. He took in her presence, but held the door open for the other woman. “He’s ready.”

His voice sounded strained. Diantha followed both of them inside the dim room. A precise line of covered bodies lay on the floor, awaiting coffins. She stayed by the door as her husband led the girl to a body covered not by a blanket, but by a length of tartan. “It was my father’s. I brought it for him when I heard about the boats.”

The girl sobbed once more, and then gained control of herself. “Thank you, my laird. He deserves this.”

Kieran pulled something silver out of his pocket. “For your son.” Diantha thought it was a coin until he pinned the badge on the shawl in her arms. “It belonged to my father as well.”

She did not bring the episode up until they lay before the fireplace in the cottage that evening. “That was a kind thing you did for your brother’s widow.”

He stared at her. “How did you know?”

She chose her words carefully. “Barclay mentioned it to me, and I asked your mother.”

He sat up, the blanket falling off his bare chest. “How could you bring up something so painful to her? Has she not suffered enough because of my father’s neglect?”

“Please listen.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “The situation was not quite what you think.” She repeated what his mother had told her about his father’s liaison.

Something dark went out of Kieran’s eyes, but the sadness that replaced it tore at Diantha’s heart. She stroked his bare back, cherishing the feel of corded muscles under his warm skin. “What is it, my dear?”

His back rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “I had playmates on the estate as a boy, and friends at school. But I always envied the boys with brothers and sisters. I understood early on that my mother couldn’t have more children, so I didn’t complain. But I always felt the lack.”

She curled up next to him. “This was obviously before you met my family.”

He placed an arm around her shoulders. “The discovery of my father’s other family made me even angrier at his infidelity. Not only had he hurt his wife, he denied me a brother.

“My half brother refused to approach me or accept anything but the occasional gift. I don’t suppose he had an easy time of it growing up as the laird’s by-blow.” His face stiffened and his eyes glittered with unshed tears in the firelight. “I’ll never get a chance to ask him about that now.”

Diantha reached for his hand. He gripped it tightly and pulled her closer. After a moment she let go and hugged her knees with her arms. “His son is still your nephew. You could sponsor the boy’s schooling.” Her voice trembled. “If something happens to Barclay, he may be your only heir, since I can’t seem to conceive.”

Kieran pulled her down on the pallet and stretched out beside her, leaning on an elbow. She echoed his position, facing him. “That bothers you a great deal?”

“One of my few consolations during our engagement was that I would at least be able to have a child of my own to love.” She rested her hand on his hip. “I didn’t think I would come to—” She caught
herself before ‘love’ escaped her lips. “To care for you as I have.

“I want to have your child, Kieran.” She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, which gave her the courage to continue. “Not because it’s my duty, but because I’ve thought about being a mother since I was small.” She rolled onto her back. “I wouldn’t be like mine. I’d want my children to feel loved for who they are every single day of their lives.” She spoke the last words vehemently.

He gathered her close. “If we’re blessed with children, I will be thrilled. You would make an excellent mother, I’m sure of it.” He grazed her temple with a kiss.

“The difficulty might lie with the Rossburns. My grandfather only had two children, and so did my father.”

“One of life’s mysteries.” Diantha shivered as Kieran’s mouth possessed hers.

Against her lips, he murmured, “Indeed. And speaking of life’s mysteries, I need you in ways that have nothing to do with getting an heir.”

As her body responded to his husky whisper, she allowed herself a tiny bit of hope. Need wasn’t love, but it wasn’t indifference either. She wrapped her arms around her husband. “Perhaps you should elaborate on your needs.”

   They left Cariford after two more days. Kieran had overseen the removal of most of the wreckage by then, and the villagers themselves reached the grim consensus that the sea had washed all the bodies ashore that it would.

They returned a week later for the memorial service honoring all those lost. Iona and Barclay came with them. Kieran’s aunt proved predictably unimpressed with the rapport that Diantha had developed with the survivors.

“It is not necessary to enter into their every feeling.” She declared this after watching Diantha speak with a number of villagers and their children. The older woman stood waiting by the landau which was ready to carry them back to the house.

At tea that afternoon, a tremendous quarrel broke out between Kieran and Barclay.

Kieran wanted to attract fishermen from other villages by offering a share of each vessel’s profits, with the chance to take over ownership of the new boats.

Barclay considered that too complicated. He paced the rug in front of the drawing room fireplace. “Why not just tear down some of the poorer crofts and send the families to the village? You’re the landlord. Act like it for once.”

She and Iona listened to the increasingly acrimonious argument for several minutes, until Barclay flung himself out of the room in a rage.

After he left, Kieran’s aunt had addressed him sharply. “Why must you be so excessively rude to Barclay?” She shot a triumphant glance at Diantha’s slim waist. “He is still your heir, you know.”

Kieran drew himself to his full height. “Then perhaps he should remember that he inherits responsibilities to others, Aunt.”

* * *

Kieran decided to return to the village a few days later so that he could propose his plan to the survivors. The night before he left, he assured Diantha that he would be back by dinner the following evening.

Barclay went with him despite their earlier disagreement, much to her husband’s pleasure. He thanked his cousin repeatedly for lending him his support.

That afternoon, Barclay returned alone with a message from Kieran that he had been delayed and needed to oversee a few more things in Cariford. “I will be more than happy to carry any messages you might have for my cousin.”

Diantha, remembering the lies the soft-spoken man had told about Kieran before, declined to take advantage of his offer.

After hearing nothing from Kieran for three days except vague messages via his cousin, Diantha took matters into her own hands. She wrote her husband a short letter, telling him that she and his mother both missed him, and asking if she had done something to anger him.

Sealing it in an envelope and writing his name on it, she left her room to go downstairs in search of a messenger. She did not trust Barclay to deliver it to his cousin. Perhaps Archie or Billy Green would oblige her. Not wanting to be spotted by either Iona or Barclay, she walked down a narrow hall just beyond the main staircase. It led to the kitchen and stable yard doors, and would hide her from her husband’s relatives.

Or so she thought. When she noticed the estate
office door sat slightly ajar, she started to tiptoe past. Mr. Johnstone, the bailiff, might not have any reason to comment on her presence in this part of the house to Barclay, but she did not want to take any chances.

“I dinna want to murder the man.” She did not recognize the voice, but the words stopped her in her tracks.

“Odd that you didn’t mention your moral objections when I offered to rescue you from the hangman’s noose.” Diantha pressed a palm against her mouth for fear she would scream, or gasp. That soft contemptuous voice belonged to Barclay.

Hardly daring to breathe, she strained to hear more.

“ ‘Tis no’ murder to rid yourself of a cheatin’ wife. But to slide a dirk into a man what’s always spoke polite to me is. I want more money for it. You’ll have enough after you kill his lordship!”

Something scraped against the floor. She guessed it was a chair, for footsteps sounded inside the room. Diantha gathered her skirts to run.

A long sigh sounded. “I should have known better than to set a nincompoop like you to guard him, even for a few days.” Barclay’s voice became reflective. “The thing is, in order to get the money, I’ll have to get rid of my cousin’s wife as well, because she’ll inherit before I do.”

He paused. “What are you willing to do for more cash?”

Diantha did not wait to hear more. Terrified, she inched back in the direction she had come, afraid a heavy breath or a rustle of her skirts would cause Barclay and his henchman to look out of the office.

She had to save Kieran, but had no idea how to do so by herself. If she simply reported the conversation she had overheard to the local authorities, Barclay could charm his way out of an arrest.

She needed advice from someone who knew Barclay and Duncarie, someone loyal to Kieran. Hoping she did not look like someone scared out of her wits, she made her way to the entry hall and out the front door. Going around the side of the house, she headed straight for the stables.