The Highlander's Stolen Bride Page 7

  She moaned and stirred slightly before finally blinking open her eyes, trying to focus. “What happened?”

  “You took a tumble from your horse. How do you feel?”

  She moved a bit and winced. “Like a discarded sack of potatoes.” She endeavored to smile, the sight draining Derek’s fear.

  She slowly sat up, and Derek put his arm beneath her back, then carefully shifted her into his lap, her head cradled against his shoulder. “Better?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “You needn’t worry.”

  “Do you ache anywhere?”

  Rosalyn ached all over, but she did not want to tell him so. Her own foolishness had caused her accident. If she had not been acting like a silly child, none of this would have happened. “Is Gypsy all right?”

  “Gypsy is fine. She’s got a bit of a kink in her right leg, but she’ll work that out in a few days.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Ssh,” Derek soothed, brushing stray tendrils from her face and stroking his fingers through her long hair.

  “I was reckless.”

  “You were enjoying yourself. I should have warned you how unpredictable the landscape can be. One moment it’s flat, and the next, dips appear. You’ll have to ride double with me the rest of the way. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No.” While she regretted what had happened, she couldn’t regret the outcome. She wanted to be held in Derek’s arms. She had not felt them around her since the night of the Senhavens’ rout, when he had pushed his way through the circle of men around her and held out his hand, a silent request for a dance. Without a word, Rosalyn had taken his hand and been swept away. She had felt like a fairy princess that night.

  As though she were made of glass, Derek helped her to her feet. When she stood before him, the world around them seemed to melt away. As though he had read her thoughts and knew what she wanted most at that moment, he leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips.

  He eased away and Rosalyn moaned in protest, not wanting the moment to end. He needed no further incentive, pulling her tight against his chest.

  He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting into her mouth to mate with hers, tasting her; his hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her close, as though he thought she would run away. But that was the last thing on Rosalyn’s mind as she twined her fingers through his hair.

  His other hand moved against her waist, squeezing lightly and then shifting restlessly up and down her side until finally settling on the outer swell of her breast, the image that had kept her tossing and turning in her bed every night, waiting for his hand to slip across her silken skin and lightly caress her nipples.

  “Derek,” she whispered in an aching voice as his lips feverishly skimmed her jaw and moved down her neck, the sensations arrowing straight to the core of her.

  She arched up on her toes and followed his lead, pressing her lips to his neck, reveling in his husky groan and growing bolder by the moment. She shifted so that his hand fully covered her breast, her nipple peaking against her bodice and into his palm.

  The next moment, he pulled away.

  She reached for him, but he stepped back. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  Why?

  He glanced away, looking toward the setting sun. “We must go or we’ll be stuck out here in the dark.”

  Rosalyn knew he was doing what he thought was best for both of them. And she shouldn’t want him to kiss her again. But she did, and the more he made her yearn for him, the more she thought being a mistress might not be so terrible.

  Her reputation would be ruined, should anyone find out. But what did it matter? She would never be a wife, and too much passion existed inside her to consider a life in a convent or spinsterhood. Derek had made her see that she wanted to be a woman in the most complete way.

  “Take my hand,” he said, and Rosalyn glanced up to find him astride Minotaur’s back, looking down at her, his face devoid of any expression.

  She raised her hand to his, and in a moment she was seated across his lap, his body tense beneath hers.

  They rode in silence for a long time. Rosalyn tried to remain stiff in his arms, when she really wanted to lay her head against his shoulder and close her eyes.

  “Did you get your mother’s estate settled?” she asked when she could no longer take the silence.

  “Yes,” he said. “I transferred ownership of all but one estate to the charge of my mother’s last remaining brother.”

  “You didn’t want them?”

  “I have more than I need here.”

  “But you didn’t renounce your title.”

  “It would have broken my mother’s heart. I am, after all, part English. That’s not something I can change.”

  “Would you, if it were possible?”

  He was quiet for so long that Rosalyn thought that she had insulted him. But finally he spoke.

  “There were times when I thought I would, when I believed it would be simpler to not be of mixed descent—tainted blood, as many people around here look at it. But it was as much my mother as my father that made me who I am. There aren’t many people who can travel between two different worlds. Some look at me as though I’m a heathen, while others see me as a sophisticated gentleman.”

  “And which do you believe yourself to be?”

  “A bit of both, though I’m not expected to be so perfect here as I am in England. Besides, I’m needed more here. The title and estates will take care of themselves.”

  “It’s important for you to be needed.” She knew it to be true. He was a man of honor and strength, a leader in every sense of the word.

  She could see the fire burning in his eyes, a passion for the country he called home. “Being needed is what brings meaning to life. Don’t you want to be needed?”

  “Of course.”

  “So tell me, what brings meaning to your life?”

  She glanced out over the moors to the distant promontories, whose massive height and width held the pounding sea at bay.

  “Back in Cornwall, there was a small orphanage run by the local parish. The priest only had the help of two nuns, neither in the bloom of youth, and the children were quite the imps. I spent many hours playing with them.”

  “Do you want to have children someday?”

  A familiar yearning rose inside her, but she immediately quelled it. “I decided a long time ago that there are enough children in this world who need love and attention, and I’d like to devote my time to them.”

  “You wouldn’t want babies of your own to nurture?”

  Rosalyn heard the surprise in Derek’s tone. She knew her desire not to have children had to seem odd. But that possibility had died years ago, and she refused to allow the hurt to rule her life.

  “I don’t need children of my own to feel fulfilled. I’m happy to help others.”

  Derek regarded Rosalyn’s profile when she looked away. He had never imagined her as a woman who didn’t want children. She had such a gentle way about her. It didn’t make sense.

  Her sudden gasp brought his gaze to where her attention was focused. Over the crest of a hill, Castle Gray came into view.

  “Oh my, is that your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never imagined it would be so big! Is that a moat?”

  “Yes, but the crocodiles were removed a decade ago.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Crocodiles?”

  He laughed at her expression. “Welcome to Castle Gray, my lady.”

  Seven

  “S he’s more than five hundred years old, built by Saxon ancestors,” Derek recited with pride, giving Rosalyn some of the history of his home as they rode along. “The upper walkway has a completely circular view so enemies could be spotted either by land or sea. She’s fully fortified with two drawbridges, eight guard stations equipped with cannonades, six turrets perfect for locking in damsels in distress, and one fully functional dungeon for the occasional torture.” Wh
en Rosalyn’s gaze snapped to his, Derek laughed. “No one’s ever been tortured—at least not since I’ve been laird.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He grinned. “But to continue, the majority of the village resides within the castle walls. The hawkers sell everything from fresh fish to lumber to oriental silk. In short, we are a city unto ourselves.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Yes,” Derek agreed, watching the evening light casting red and gold prisms over the limestone walls. A familiar feeling of peace came over him.

  Rosalyn looked at him. “It really is lovely,” she said, laying her hand on top of his. “Thank you for inviting me here.”

  Without thought, Derek caressed her cheek. “You’ve already thanked me.”

  “I know.” She glanced down at her hand entwined with his, aching to know how it would feel covering her breast. “But I wanted to tell you again.”

  Something about her demeanor unsettled Derek. Something was going on inside her head, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It would have been so much easier, had they met under different circumstances. Perhaps then he could indulge in his growing desire for her. The pressure of her soft bottom against his groin was nearly unbearable. He longed to raise her skirts from behind and ease into her, then thrust to the hilt and let her sweet, tight heat clutch him; to feel her tighten; her frenzy making him harden further, pump faster, rocking inside her until he felt her climax around him.

  Derek clenched his hands and thanked the powers above that his long jacket hid his arousal.

  He could only hope that now that he was home, he could stay away from her. He’d sent Darius ahead to have his staff prepare her a room in the west wing. His own suite of rooms was in the east wing. His men at arms resided in the middle. Not even a mouse could get by them, so there was no need for his room and Rosalyn’s to be close to one another to ensure her safety. Only disaster would come of that arrangement, anyway. Derek doubted he would have the strength to deny himself if she was too close.

  As it was, he could barely keep his hands off her. She felt so good in his arms. And the way she looked at him, with complete trust, was a heady feeling.

  He couldn’t let her down. He had already engaged a league of Bow Street runners in the pursuit of her stepbrother.

  As well, his fellow Pleasure Seekers had gotten wind of Derek’s plight and were keeping an eye out for Westcott. Even Lucien, with his own troubles, had forwarded a missive to offer his support. Derek knew his friend had his own concerns to deal with. But for the first time since Derek had learned of Lucien’s problem, he felt that Lucien might finally fight his way free, with Fancy’s help.

  “My lord!” a voice rang out.

  Derek looked toward the drawbridge to see Nathaniel running toward him. Caroline’s son was nearing eight and full of hero-worship. He had never known his father. Derek had taken to guiding him in swordplay at Caroline’s request, as her son was becoming too solitary, spending hours with his pigeons instead of with the other boys of the village.

  While Derek had grown very fond of the lad, he was concerned that Nate was becoming too attached. Yet the youngster needed a man to guide him. If Derek had been able to get a name out of Caroline, he would have tracked down the miscreant who sired the boy.

  Nate dashed up to the horse, his eyes bright and his face flushed from exertion. His mop of reddish brown hair was an unruly mess, making the lad look like a ragamuffin. He eagerly took the horse’s reins. “Welcome home, sir!”

  Derek leaned over and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Thank you, Nate. It’s good to be home. Has all been well here?”

  “Aye, sir—well, all except Janie.”

  “And what has she done this time?”

  “She let all the hens out of the henhouse, and I had to chase them down. I got bit by Belinda. See?” He raised his hand to show Derek a small peck mark.

  “Who’s Belinda?” Rosalyn asked.

  “Belinda is a very big hen,” Derek explained. “She rules the roost and has an infinitely short temper.”

  “I thought the rooster ruled the roost?”

  “Normally that would be true. But you don’t know Henry.”

  “Henry? That’s the rooster’s name?”

  Derek grinned. “Not my choice, but it stuck.”

  “I think he’s not right in the noggin’,” Nathaniel said, crossing his eyes. “One of the horses kicked him in the head, y’ see. Never been the same since.”

  “Maybe a new rooster would make a difference,” Rosalyn remarked.

  “Oh, no, miss,” Nathaniel piped in. “That won’t do it. The hens around here aren’t like any others.”

  “Neither are the women of the village,” Derek said with a grin.

  “Aye,” the lad agreed with a pronounced nod. “They’re real tough, and they look at their men all pinch-faced—like this.” He scrunched his cheeks together, and Rosalyn laughed. “The men are always groanin’ and hidin’ out in the back barn.”

  “What are they doing in the back barn?” she asked curiously.

  Nate shrugged. “Playing cards, mostly, and complaining about stuff. But ye know what?” he went on in a conspiratorial tone, lowering his voice.

  Rosalyn leaned down and played her role. “What?”

  “I think they like their women more than they let on. I see ’em huggin’ an’ kissin’ each other when no one’s lookin’.” He made a face, and Rosalyn smiled.

  Derek laughed. “You are going to get a bad reputation, lad. No one wants a Peeping Tom about.”

  “I’m not peeping, sir. They do it right in broad daylight. Yuck! Who wants to kiss a girl? I’d rather kiss a toad.”

  “I guarantee that will change someday, my boy. And you’ll find yourself wanting to kiss females a whole lot. Maybe even one in particular,” he added, capturing Rosalyn’s gaze.

  He cleared his throat and turned to the boy.

  “See to Gypsy, will you, Nate? And have Liam apply a poultice to her leg and keep her hobbled for the night.”

  “Aye, sir. Right away.” He gently took hold of Gypsy’s reins, speaking softly to her as he led her toward the stables.

  “He’s a darling boy,” Rosalyn said.

  “Yes, he’s a good lad. He’s desperate for a father, though.”

  “And he wants you to be that father, I imagine.” She had no doubt that Derek would make a very good father.

  “I think he’d prefer his own.”

  “I can understand that. My father died when I was six, and I longed for him. Even now, I miss him. Some days it’s a struggle to recall what he looked like, but I remember that he always smelled like tobacco.” She smiled to herself. “He loved a good pipe.”

  “At least you got to know your father for a short time.”

  “Yes. But what I remember most was how sad my mother was when he died. She told me Papa had gone to heaven. I asked her if I could go, too. She cried and hugged me close and told me heaven was a long way off. I didn’t want it to be, I wanted to see my father again. Then my mother met Lord Westcott, and some of the happiness returned to her eyes. I wanted that for her. She deserved it.”

  “And what about you? Were you happy?”

  Rosalyn nodded. “The earl was very good to me; he treated me like a daughter. He always told me he’d wished he had been blessed with a girl. His wife died shortly after Calder was born. He was devastated for many years. But he said that the sunshine came back to his life when he met my mother. They were good for each other. I don’t think the earl wanted to live after my mother died.” She gazed up at Derek. “I believe one can die of a broken heart. Don’t you?”

  Derek had never felt that measure of despair, but looking at Rosalyn, he knew how he would feel if anything happened to her.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Minotaur plodded up to the stable doors, and Derek jumped down from his back. He held his hands up for Rosalyn, and she slid into his arms.

  “Whe
n did you stop believing your father was coming back?” he asked.

  She glanced over his shoulder, trying to hold back the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “When Calder told me he was dead and buried and that no one ever came back.”

  Damn the bastard for breaking a little girl’s heart.

  Derek handed Minotaur’s reins to Nathaniel and patted the boy on the back. “Give him a good rubdown.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Rosalyn watched the pair amble away. “Will Gypsy be all right?”

  “Gypsy will be fine. Let’s worry about you for now.” Before Rosalyn knew what he intended, Derek lifted her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It would appear I’m carrying you.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Consider me your personal cart horse.”

  “But—”

  “Ssh.”

  Rosalyn closed her mouth at the look Derek leveled on her and resigned herself to her fate, knowing she was exactly where she wanted to be. When she was with him, her whole body vibrated with a voluptuous excitement.

  As she rode on his lap, she had noted a suspicious bulge in his trousers, and wondered if she had been the cause. She’d barely resisted the urge to reach down and feel his hardness, to undo his buttons and take him into her hands.

  Rosalyn forced her thoughts back to the moment. “Who’s Janie?” she asked as Derek carried her across the inner bailey.

  “She’s the cook’s daughter, and the cutest little sprite I’ve ever met. She’s seven years old and fancies herself in love with Nathaniel”

  “How sweet.”

  “Not for Nate.” Derek chuckled, thinking about the turnaround the lad would someday go through in relation to women. “He thinks Janie is a pain in the rump, in his words. She follows him wherever he goes and makes bat eyes at him.”

  Before Rosalyn could reply, a voice called out, “Ah, brother, returned so soon?”

  The smile faded from Derek’s face upon spotting Ethan standing in the front doorway, leaning negligently against the frame.

  Ethan focused on Rosalyn. “Have you made the biggest mistake of your life, my lady?”

  Rosalyn stared at him, confused. Then it dawned on her that it might look as though Derek was carrying his wife over the threshold. “I hurt myself riding. Derek is being gallant.”