No Other Woman (No Other #2)

Prologue

TO DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

David awoke instantly at the faint scratching sound at the ancient stone window leading from the master’s chamber to the fortress balcony beyond.

The years of warfare in America—not to mention the lessons he had learned among his brother’s people, the Sioux—had left him with the ability to awaken instantly at even the slightest shift in the breeze.

He half opened his eyes and saw her there before he heard her sultry whisper, a siren’s call, on the air.

“David?”

She was framed in the window, caught by starlight and the faint glimmer of firelight now lying low within the hearth, a slender, perfect young form hugged by the wind and the silky garment she wore, clinging to the wondrous dips and curves of her body.

Her long hair, as black as India ink, flowed in the night breeze as well, sweeping around her.

Instinct had awakened him.

And instinct aroused him.

Yet he was ever cautious of the lady, for they had certainly clashed on many an occasion over the years.

Most often, he had enjoyed taunting her.

One day, he thought, he would challenge her airs and independence, and the arrogance with which she had come to greet him more and more with the passing of time.

They lived in the modem world, of course.

But by the old standards that continued to mean so much in the Highlands, he was the overlord here, and she seemed to resent it.

No matter. Both of their clans and family septs had lived in and near Craig Rock for hundreds of years.

He was the heir to all the Douglas of Castle Rock holdings while she had inherited the MacGinnis title and properties at her father’s death, three years ago.

She took it all very seriously.

But then, he’d had the opportunity to know a different life as well, to travel over much of the world, even fight other men’s battles with them.

She knew their Highland world and little more.

He’d known ladies, maids, countesses, and whores.

She’d been protected by the MacGinnises and all their septs, for it was most important that their heiress marry well.

He’d done his honorable best to remember her position each time she had regally taunted him, but she was certainly not a child anymore, and he was quite sure she knew full well just what effect she was capable of having upon a man.

He had threatened often enough to teach her a few lessons if she did not take care, and he was not sure himself just how far he would take his threats.

And now…

She tiptoed softly down the stone steps, nearing his bed to watch him sleep. Yet, as she paused, staring down upon him, he reached suddenly for her wrist, startling her so that she nearly cried out.

Yet she composed herself.

“David!” She whispered his name fervently, her Highland burr soft and sweet, tempered by hours with stem tutors, yet still there, for it seemed that no amount of study of what was deemed as “proper” elocution could ever truly hide away a Highlander’s burr.

“Aye, lass, whom might you be expecting in my bed? And if you haven’t come planning on joining me here, I would suggest that you leave quickly and not visit your overlaird in the dead of night while he lies sleeping naked in his bed.”

She snatched her hand free, indignant and regal in the firelight that burned softly from the hearth.

“David, I need to speak with you.”

“What interesting apparel you have chosen for a conversation!” he told her, rising upon his elbows to better survey her.

Her gown might have been chosen for a trousseau, for a wedding night, in fact.

The fabric seemed to shimmer. Even the soft firelight passed cleanly through it.

“And what an intriguing time and place you have chosen for a talk.”

“I do not choose to talk here!” she informed him. “It is just so difficult to reach you at times. Come with me now to the stables. You must do as I ask.”

He arched a brow. “Must I? Come to my office tomorrow, Shawna MacGinnis.”

He started to roll away from her, angry, realizing that he really shouldn’t be terribly surprised to see her here tonight.

He had received documented proof that day of criminal activity by her kin.

He had threatened earlier in the day to bring charges against her foolhardy young cousin, Alistair, for siphoning Douglas funds into his own bank account.

He’d no intention of doing it—a sound discussion with young Alistair would surely suffice.

But still, Alistair’s crimes might well bring about a heavy sentence before the law, and for once, her ladyship was truly in a position where she needed Douglas mercy.

He should have been forewarned then.

Right then and there.

But he had no reason to suspect any truly evil intention from the lady.

She was here, swallowing her pride, because she was “The MacGinnis of Craig Rock.” Titular head of her family.

Alistair would never have met him face-to-face to argue or to fight.

He knew he would have lost. Exposure to the lawless American West had taught David Douglas what fencing lessons given by the finest French swordsmen might have overlooked, and he was an expert in any battle of weapons or fists.

At times Alistair was reckless, but he was no fool.

Had he put Shawna up to this?

And just what exactly did the lady intend?

Her fingers touched David’s naked shoulder. “David, you arrogant aristocrat! I must talk with you. I am begging you, please!”

He paused, rolling back to her, not so much struck with sympathy for her plight as he was intrigued with just how much she was willing to risk in the name of family honor.

“Please!” she whispered again.

He sighed. “Get out, girl. I’ll be along.”

“You’ll tell no one?”

“I know of no other fool awake at this hour.”

She spun around, her grace, youth, and beauty highlighted by the crimson firelight.

She hurried silently back to the window.

He watched her, wondering how many times through the years his ancestors had welcomed their lovers so, for to those who knew the way, an enclosure along the balcony wall led to a secret stairway that ran below the rock and the wall to the forest that lay southward of the castle.

It was said the Bonnie Prince Charlie once escaped his would-be captors by way of Castle Rock.

Shawna knew of it, he realized, because he had once teasingly invited her to his chambers by way of it.

Well, she had come now.

He rose and found his velvet robe hanging on the hook by the door and wrapped himself in it and nothing more.

If she’d come half-naked to his room, he wasn’t going to dress formally for an assignation out in the stables.

Did she mean to beg and plead and seduce his mercy?

She’d have done better, he determined somewhat angrily, to come to him honestly and ask that he drop the charges against her cousin.

But then, if she was convinced that she was so powerful—let her have her way.

When she was done, he’d tell her that he’d never intended to bring the law against young Alistair.

The stables to which she had referred lay beyond the castle walls.

The structure was large and long with a roof made of thatch.

At one end was a room where the stable master had slept in ancient times.

A wooden bunk remained at the right rear corner of the room, hay was stored to the left, and a desk with ledgers took up most of the space.

The light of a small lantern created a ghostly dance along the walls, ceiling, and floor as he entered, and even against the silky fabric of her all-but-sheer nightdress.

She awaited him by the desk. He could see she’d planned the tryst. A silver tray with two goblets of wine sat by her side.

She offered him one. He took it, then waited, not offering her a word of encouragement.

“It’s very good wine,” she said. He thought she seemed angry yet also determined not to betray her true feelings—or her cause.

He nodded. “Get to it, girl. What is it you want? Why have you awakened me in the middle of the night?”

“You know why. You mustn’t prosecute Alistair.”

“Why not? He’s a thieving young rascal who needs a good lesson.”

She swallowed a large mouthful of wine. He was touched by the inner struggle she seemed to be experiencing. If he weren’t so irritated with this pretense of hers, he’d be tempted to take her tenderly in his arms and whisper assurances to her.

Because she was an extremely beautiful woman.

Shawna was pure fire, inside and outside, a fascinating tempest. As reckless as young Alistair, but fiercely proud of being a MacGinnis, loyal to her family—softening only in her love of children and helpless little animals.

It was dangerous to give to Shawna. She saw too clearly her own power in all that she might hold.

She set her wineglass down upon the desk and pressed his glass to his lips, urging him to drink.

He swallowed several sips of the wine. It was a fruity, rich wine, odd-tasting, and not much to his liking, and not from his own cellars, he was certain.

Had they scoured the wine cellars of Castle MacGinnis, looking for this particular quite potent burgundy?

If she was trying to get him drunk on wine, she had quite a task ahead of her.

How intriguing. Men were supposed to seduce sweet young damsels by plying them with an intoxicating beverage.

Maybe she was trying to dull her own senses.

She herself was drinking the wine as if it were water.

Her eyes were on his. They fell. She reached for his glass, and he allowed her to set it beside her own.

She brought her hands to his face, cupping it.

Then her palms fell to the V of his robe, her fingers teasing his flesh before her hands pressed flat against it.

He’d known for a long time that she was beautiful. And desirable.