7. DUGALD #2
His fingers rubbed and then dove inside her, and suddenly she was gasping a half scream as she clenched around him.
He licked a little more, mainly because it felt so good to make her lose control like this, a woman who he suspected rarely lost control.
By the time he stood up and began to unfasten his kilt, she had collapsed onto the bed and was blinking up at him.
Her hair was falling down and her breasts were rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath.
He noted a mark on her neck, one that he had made.
He liked his mark on her. He liked other men knowing she was his. He felt completely primitive and he didn’t care.
Rosina reached for him as soon as she saw how hard and ready he was, but Dugald climbed over her, pressing her to the bed, and clasped her wrists in his hands, lifting them above her head.
He covered her face with kisses, before running his tongue down over her breasts, and soon she was writhing against him.
That was when he thrust his hips and drove deep inside her welcoming body.
It was just as good as he’d remembered. Better.
She closed around him, warm and wet and so ready.
She lifted her legs, wrapping them around him, pushing back, and he heard himself groan.
He changed his grip so that one hand was holding her wrists, and she didn’t struggle.
It was as if she liked him to hold her, and he wondered if it was because she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to fight with her own feelings, and could just let go.
His other hand he used to squeeze her breasts before reaching down between her thighs and finding her already swollen nub.
He used this thumb on her and then pinched, and she rose up with a cry, tremors running through her, her body clenching on him so that he had no choice but to go with her.
The intense feeling of pleasure seemed to go on and on.
What seemed a long time later he felt her hand rest on his nape, her fingers gently stroking through his hair.
“I only came to ask you about a guard to go with me to visit Kenny,” she said.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, and then he smiled, and then he laughed. There was an answering sparkle in her grey eyes, but he could see those doubts beginning to circle too. He refused to let them.
“Come to my bed tonight,” he said, bending to press his lips to the warm curve of her shoulder.
“I don’t—”
“You do. We will do this, Rosina. Until this thing, whatever it is, has run its course.” If it runs its course.
“Yes,” she whispered against his skin.
Relieved he turned his head and nuzzled into her.
“I should go,” she said, trying to rise.
He held her still. “Stay. I will be ready again in a moment.”
She laughed, and she sounded like the woman he had loved ten years ago. Happy in his arms, content to follow her own heart.
Dugald knew he wanted that woman back, and somehow this time he was going to keep her.
***
His father was seated in the great hall, a jug of ale in front of him.
Dugald noticed he hadn’t poured himself any of it—no doubt Hamish was still recovering for his night out with Callum and Finlay.
For a moment Dugald took in the man who was his father as if he was a stranger.
He was tall and strong, as lean as he’d been when he was young, and although the years had drawn lines around his eyes and mouth, he was still handsome.
Dugald had seen the women looking on many occasions, although his father had never, to his knowledge, responded.
“Mistress Stewart came to me today.” He didn’t waste any time getting to the point.
Hamish turned his head and stared. “She came to you?”
Surprised, Dugald noted the hard stare, the clenching of teeth before his father’s face resumed a more familiar expression.
“What did she want?”
“She wants to go to Auchiltie with you. She says she feels useful, and if you send her back to the duke then she will be miserable. I am to persuade you to grant her request.”
Hamish groaned. “I was hoping she would return to the duke without a fight.”
Dugald eyed him curiously. “Don’t you want her with you? I can understand it is more work for you, but she seems biddable enough.”
Hamish snorted a laugh. “Oh she is biddable, at least she pretends to be, but that isn’t the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
But his father just shook his head and poured himself a mug of ale. “I will give it some thought,” he said, and that was the end of the conversation.
It wasn’t until Dugald was on his way to bed that he met with Finlay on the stairs. His brother listened to him tell the story of his father’s complaint and Mistress Stewart’s request and gave a deep chuckle.
Finlay leaned closer, green eyes alight with laughter, his usually reserved face split with a grin. “Don’t you know?” he said. “Father is in lust with the girl. He is struggling between his need for her and his determination to keep his hands to himself.”
Dugald refused to believe it, but Finlay insisted it was true.
“Our father is infatuated with the girl,” he declared.
“And I suspect it’s the same for her. Callum says they’ll eventually give in, but I have my doubts.
Father is an honourable man and he has given his word to protect her.
He will probably lock himself in the dungeon rather than let loose his baser instincts. ”
When he was alone Dugald thought it over.
Was Finlay right? Mistress Stewart was very pretty, docile and sweet.
She could wrap a man like his father around her little finger.
No wonder Hamish didn’t want her to remain with him—he didn’t trust himself.
And yet Mistress Stewart was doing her best to stay by Hamish’s side.
Was it really because she wanted to help, as she had said?
Or was she rather more devious than he thought her?