Chapter Seven
Camille glared at Dugald for a long moment. The beast! Sacrebleu, but he was arousing. The most tempting man she had ever encountered. And the most maddening!
"Do you?" Dugald asked, his deep voice seducing her utterly. His darkened eyes dared her to indulge with him, to sample something wicked.
"What?" So distracted was she that she'd forgotten what they were discussing.
His sensual lips quirked. "Want to crawl into my bed?" He watched her as a giant, green-eyed cat watches a finch before it pounces.
She could scarce breathe. Or think. She licked her lips and his gaze focused on her actions, his lashes lowering. Mère de Dieu, she wanted to climb his tall, broad-shouldered frame and nibble on him.
"Peut-être," she murmured, unable to lie outright.
"I'll take that as an aye." Moving swiftly, he lifted her again and deposited her in the middle of his huge rumpled bed.
She gasped at his sudden action, a thrill coursing through her. She was daft to want to be in his bed but… she could not find the will to scramble away from him. She loved the way he towered over her and how small she felt beneath him.
"I don't remember much from my French lessons," he said, "but I do remember that word. Perhaps. Aye?" He drew her earlobe into his hot, wet mouth.
Delightful shivers coursed down her neck and over her breasts.
"Ahh. Oui," she breathed, arching her neck.
He trailed his lips down the sensitive skin of her throat, leaving wee kisses along the way and a playful bite.
She clenched her fingers into his silky dark hair.
Oh, good heavens! He sent lightning dancing over her skin.
He pulled at the front lacings of her bodice, untying the bow at her breasts. "I want to unwrap you like a lovely French gift."
"Oui. Take them off." She struggled with the buttons on his doublet, wanting to run her hands over all his hard muscles.
He sat on his knees and focused on his task in earnest. Within seconds, he had bared her breasts and drew one of her hard and sensitive nipples into his mouth. The sudden surge of pleasure astonished her.
She gasped, arching toward him.
"Damnation, lass! You have the most beautiful, lush breasts."
"Take your clothes off," she said.
Still suckling her nipples, he tore at the buttons of his doublet.
She unbuckled his belt and shoved his plaid aside.
Rising up, he yanked the shirt and doublet over his head and, finally, he was gloriously bare.
Such a beautiful male, she could not draw breath.
The muscles of his chest and abdomen appeared carved of burnished marble.
She had only seen a brief glimpse of him outside the tent.
But now, to have him fully naked and so close to her was near overwhelming.
Thankfully, he finished dragging the clothing from her body.
Claiming her mouth again in a consuming kiss, he pressed his body, so hot and hard, along hers. Tangling her hands in his long dark hair, she drew him closer. Sacrebleu, she had never craved a man so badly! She threw her leg over his and hooked her heel behind his knee.
Grinning, he growled and rolled between her thighs.
Slowly, he pushed her legs upward and positioned himself.
"Are you ready?" His devilish tone promising unimaginable pleasure, he stroked that most aroused and intimate spot where she ached for him.
A daring, wicked look glinted in his eyes.
He hissed a breath between his teeth. "You feel ready. "
Need for him consuming her, she nodded. "Oui."
With one forceful thrust, he lodged himself within her and growled against her ear.
She cried out, digging her nails into his back. She had never felt such intensity—pleasure, passion and a bit of pain. Though she was no virgin, it had been more than two years since she'd taken a lover. She was unused to such an invasion. And he was a large, virile man.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, breathing hard and holding himself still within her. "I forgot to ask if you're a virgin."
She shook her head. "Non… but…"
"Thank the saints."
"In truth?"
"Aye. I didn't want to hurt you." He withdrew and the wondrous aching sensation made her clench her teeth.
"Monsieur," she gasped.
"Dugald," he prompted in a husky murmur.
She repeated his name as he slowly drove into her again.
With the next thrust, she cried out, the pleasure near consuming her.
Sweet Mother Mary, she could not think. He was so forceful and commanding, increasing his pace until he was taking her fast and hard, just as she wanted.
Her first lover had been a green lad compared to Dugald.
"Never stop." Her arms around his neck, she clung to his hair as he ate at her mouth and claimed her body.
"Camille." The way he growled her name sent renewed chills racing over her body.
"Oui."
"You turn me into a lunatic."
Intense pleasure bloomed from her center, expanding ever outward until it swallowed her up. Feeling as if she were tumbling through the sky, she screamed.
Driving deep within her, his body quaking, he growled against her ear.
When she came back to herself, she heard him drawing in great gulps of air, as she did. Heavens! She had never felt such breath-stealing passion. Rolling to the mattress beside her and laying his head on the pillow, he watched her, the wickedness still lingering in his faint grin.
Although she had thought him attractive from the first moment she saw him, his smile made him a hundred times more gorgeous. She never wanted to look away. The mischievous devil had bewitched her.
In that moment, she realized she had gotten exactly what she'd wished for—a hot-blooded Scotsman for an adventure in the bedchamber.
Whew, did she ever! He was so much more sensual and passionate than she'd fantasized.
With him, she craved something far beyond a brief aventure amoureuse. But would he want that too?
The excitement and uncertainty made her wish she could read his mind, or at least his expression. But she had not known him long enough. So much had happened in a short span of time—a mad dash through the Highlands and the best liaison of her life.
His mysterious gaze continued to search hers.
"What are you thinking, Dugald?"
"You don't truly want to know," he said, his deep voice rough.
"I do indeed."
He lifted a brow, his gaze turning diabolical. "I think I will keep you as my hostage for a while longer."
Although his wording might frighten some women, a thrill shot through her. "You wish me to stay?"
"Aye." He grinned. "This has only whetted my appetite."
Hers too. She feared she was addicted to the rogue after only one encounter. "How long?"
"I know not. You enjoyed that, aye?"
"Of course, but…" Although she wanted to be selfish and indulge a while longer, she had responsibilities.
"What?" he asked.
"My cousin will worry when my driver and the maids report that I have gone missing."
He frowned, his eyes taking on a troubled expression. "Aye." He rolled from the bed and began dressing.
Disappointment enveloped her, for their magical rendezvous was over, the most exciting she'd ever experienced.
Once he was dressed, he observed her with a dark and gloomy expression.
She sat up, holding the covers to her chest. "What is wrong?"
"Come. I will help you dress."
She did as he bid and was surprised at how deftly he helped her into her clothing. And he was gentle about it. What a ladies' man!
With her back to him, he drew her close and murmured in her ear, "I enjoyed the hell out of that."
A shiver of delight coursed down her spine. "Moi, aussi."
He growled. "Don't speak French to me. I'm already aroused enough." He placed kisses along the side of her neck. Delicious chills covered her, making her want to beg for more.
"Why did we get dressed?" she asked, burying her hand in his thick hair.
"I want to rip off our clothes again, but I have important business to attend to."
"The dagger?" she asked.
"Aye."
She turned to face him. "Why is this weapon so important to you?"
"'Twas my father's and his father's before him.
It is known as the King Richard dagger and it has been in my family for over two hundred years.
'Tis a very special and valuable dagger with a large ruby in the hilt.
It came to the MacKerricks through marriage and alliance with the Munro clan.
Originally, the ruby belonged to the English king, Richard the Lionheart, and 'twas brought from the Holy Land during the crusades. "
"Oh, I see. Such a weapon must indeed be priceless."
He nodded. "And I'm the one who has lost it." He frowned as if mentally castigating himself.
"But you said someone stole it, so you are not to blame."
He shrugged. "'Tis the same. I did not guard it well enough. And now Chief Lindsay, his son and the whole clan will think me daft."
"Because you stole me instead of his wife?"
"Aye."
"The consequences could have been terrible if you had truly stolen her, though."
He shook his head. "Nay. Then I would've had leverage to get the dagger back."
"But it could've caused a war between your two clans. Lives could've been lost." Could he not see the seriousness of it?
"Mayhap," he said thoughtfully.
"Lives are worth more than a dagger, no matter how valuable it is."
He observed her for a long moment, then gave a slight nod and a wee sheepish grin. "You are wise for a Frenchie lass."
Warmed by his warped compliment, she smiled.
A sudden pounding on the door startled her.
She jumped, then hid behind the screen in the corner.
No one must find her here in the laird's chamber.
Upon touching her hair, she found it in complete disarray.
She would have to take it down and have the maid braid it again. The woman was sure to be suspicious.
Dugald yelled, "What is it?"
"'Tis Braden, m'laird," someone said outside the closed door. "He's returned from Perth."
"And Mason?"
"Nay. He is in jail."