Chapter Nine

 

Despite the hot tea she was sipping, Maggie shivered from an inner chill. Telling Fi of the recent events in her life hadn’t resulted in the comfort she’d hoped for.

“Would ye like some whiskey in yer tea, love?” Fi asked, reaching for the cup before Maggie could respond.

Maggie nodded limply.

“I hope yer not angry with me for telling ye how it is,” Fi began as she poured the potent liquid into the tea. “I’m merely saving ye from a letdown, is all.”

Maggie sighed as she accepted the cup. “Yes, I know.” It wasn’t as if she’d really believed him when he’d said it wasn’t goodbye, and yet…

“I canna believe he’d tell ye—word for word!—the same thing he’d told Clara and Rosemary. Ye would think he’d have thought of a new parting phrase by now, aye?”

If Maggie could have mustered the strength, she’d have placed a gag over Fiona’s mouth. It was one thing for Fi to alert her of MacKay’s true intentions, but quite another to keep flapping her jaw about how he did this to every woman and she was no exception.

Damn it all, her mother was right.

Maggie had spread her legs for a rogue and had her heart taken right along with her maidenhead. Now she was left with nothing. She wouldn’t be able to marry a respectable man, nor would she ever trust one again. Men were heathens! Every. Single. Blasted. One.

Maggie raised her eyes heavenward to keep her tears from falling. A strong woman wouldn’t cry over him. He may have taken her heart, but he wouldn’t take her pride.

She placed her teacup on the nightstand by the bed and took a steadying breath. There were other matters to contend with, other issues to solve. Where was she to begin? She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Fi, what am I to do now? I’ve ruined everything!”

“Och! Dunna fret, lass.”

“Don’t you understand, Fi?” Margaret bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “I’ve ruined my chances to free Uncle Hamish. There isn’t a bloody thing I can do about it now.”

Fiona sat next to her on the bed, hardly causing a shift in the distribution of feathers with her weight. “I’m not being callous, Maggie. Ye are far more upset than ye need to be, is all.”

“How can you say that?” She allowed herself to drop back against the mattress and exhaled. Loudly. “I’m ruined. The duke will never have me.”

Fi leaned over her and grinned like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Oh, but my dear, ye are wrong about that.”

Maggie cocked an eyebrow. What in the devil was she getting at?

“Ye remember Captain McTavish? The handsome blond who spent a week here last winter?” She waited for Margaret’s affirmation before continuing. “He brought me a few baubles from the Orient. It just so happens one of the gifts he gave me is the answer to yer quandary.”

Now she was sure Fi had lost her marbles. She said as much with an unladylike “hmpf”.

“Aren’t ye the least bit curious what it is?”

Margaret shrugged. “I suppose.”

Fi hopped off the bed and went over to the dresser. After rummaging through several drawers, she presented a yellow glass jar. “I dunna remember what he called it, but this is a salve ye put inside yer cunt to make it swell.”

Maggie ignored the crass term, tired of chastising Fi for her use of the word. It did no good to balk about it. “It makes it swell?” She wrinkled her nose as she caught whiff of the concoction. “Why would I want to do that?”

Fi rolled her eyes. “If ye are verra careful to put it close to yer opening, it gets tight where yer maidenhead would be.”

Maggie propped herself up on her elbows and blinked at Fi. She had to admit she was intrigued. “Does it really work, though? Have you tried it?”

Fi nodded, a rather wicked smile spreading across her face. “Aye. Fooled two of the three on which I tried it.”

A twinge of apprehension swept over her. “Two out of three? Why not all three?”

Her friend rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Well, of course the captain wasn’t fooled. He’s the one who bought it for me, silly!”

She had a point. “Do you really think it will work? The duke will believe I’m a virgin?”

“I’ll bet ye a bolt of silk.”

After considering it for a moment, Maggie reached for the jar. Fiona pulled it safely out of reach. “Uh-uh-uh,” she scolded, wagging her finger at Maggie. “I’m willing to let ye use it, but only on one condition.”

Oh, dear Lord. Her “conditions” were rarely appropriate. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“Ye must let me apply it.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m more than capable of finding my own quim, thank you.”

Fi chuckled. “I know. I’ve watched ye in the tub before.”

“Fi!” Her mouth was agape and she was too shocked to close it.

With a flip of her head, Fi tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “Think about it for a moment. I’ve had experience placing the salve where it needs to be. I know how close to yer opening it needs to go and how much should be used.” Slowly, Fi caressed the little jar. “Ye are a novice at these things. If ye place it too far to the front ye will just swell, and he’ll never be able to get inside ye. He’ll think something’s amiss. Luck be with ye if he decides to punish ye for trying to pull the wool over his eyes.”

The word “punish” brought to mind the woman at Bare Brook who’d received a paddling on her bare arse. She wouldn’t let the duke bend her over like an errant child. And she really didn’t want Fi putting her fingers inside her most private of places. “I think I can manage,” Maggie replied, and grabbed the salve before Fi could react.

The buxom blonde huffed. “Suit yerself, Margaret. But don’t cry to me when the duke calls yer bluff.”

Maggie eyed the jar and asked a few pertinent questions before banning Fiona from the guest chamber. If it worked within a few hours and wore off within a day as Fi said it would, then she had little time to experiment.

When she was sure Fi wasn’t going to burst in at any moment, she carefully removed the lid and placed it on the table. The salve had a strong odor to it, but nothing to which she could put a name. With her index finger, she scooped out a small amount of the balm. It had a greasy residue that made her thumb feel slippery as she rubbed them together. Would it work? Her pulse quickened as she considered the possibility. There was still a chance, then.

Maggie reclined on the bed, staring at the salve in the candlelight. She felt rather silly as she rucked up her skirts and reached down to part her folds. The scent of their joining brought back graphic images of Alex’s cock penetrating her with deep, hard thrusts. MacKay was an incredible lover, but he was unworthy of her trust. The sooner she rid herself of thoughts of him, the better off she would be.

She wouldn’t allow anyone to keep her from her destiny.

With those thoughts dancing around in her mind, she reached inside and wiped the salve around her already swollen walls.

And prayed.

* * * * *

Though it was growing late, Maggie found herself roaming the halls of Fiona’s house. She longed for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. There were too many thoughts running through her mind to be able to rest. Besides, the unusual tingling inside her was enough to keep her awake and restless.

The hall was dark, but Maggie knew it as well as her own. There was a small table that sat outside the kitchen maid’s door, and she was careful not to stub her toe as she passed. She entertained the thought of pilfering a slice of bread from the kitchen, but dismissed the notion. Her mother was right—she did tend to indulge in food when she was anxious.

It was an odd mixture of emptiness and sexual frustration she’d been feeling since placing the salve inside her opening. The warming sensation came in unexpected waves of varied intensity, keeping her in a nearly constant state of arousal. This only served to remind her of Alex, and each time it tore at her heart. Her stomach was so tied up in knots she felt as if she’d suffered blows.

She needed a distraction. Something that would help her relax.

Perhaps I should find one of her father’s volumes on hunting and bore myself to sleep,she thought as she paused outside the library. Light spilled out from beneath the door, but all was quiet. Maggie wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time Fi had forgotten to extinguish a candle.

She depressed the latch and pulled the handle, opening the door partway before she froze.

She wasn’t as surprised to see Fi as she was the man with the long dark hair behind her. What in God’s name was Alex doing here? He’d assured her there wasn’t a relationship between them, but if the lack of clothing on Fi’s person was any indication, he had been lying through his teeth. Fi was leaning over the back of a chair with her pretty white thighs spread, her full bottom beckoning to him as he removed his shirt.

Maggie’s stomach lurched. What else had he lied about? Had he even been attracted to Maggie, or had she been just another vessel for him to slake his need? She wanted to cry out, but if she opened her mouth she was going to lose everything she’d eaten onto the polished wooden floor of the hallway. There was no chance of fleeing, either. Her feet had grown roots and fixed her in place. The betrayal had her heart pounding in protest, loud enough she swore they would hear it. Good. Perhaps the sound of it breaking would relay her message without her uttering a word.

She stared at the MacKay tartan lying proudly across the chair beneath Fi and silently cursed his name. How could he? When only today he’d…they’d…

He uttered something and turned his head toward the door where Maggie stood, but there was no indication he’d seen her. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to sigh with relief.

It wasn’t Alex.

Even without the tartan, there was no mistaking he was a MacKay. He had the same proud nose as Alexander, the same hard-set jaw and same hair color. Even the length was the same. Upon closer examination, she noted his eyes were narrower and his lips were much fuller than Alex’s—almost unnaturally so. If she were to guess, he was a year or two younger than she. It had to be one of his brothers; the similarities were too close for them to be cousins.

Maggie knew she should let them have their privacy. This wasn’t Bare Brook, it was Fi’s home. Walking away would be the proper thing to do.

Since when have you followed the silly rules of etiquette?

Margaret glanced in each direction to be certain she wasn’t caught peeping. There were no signs of any servants were lurking about, so she resumed her latest voyeuristic adventure.

Fi was just the right height to bend herself over the chair, leaving her backside vulnerable to whatever pleasures her lover chose to take. This chap was apparently as adventurous as she, and produced a string of black beads that he slowly inserted into her rear entrance. Margaret had heard of these “love beads”, but she’d never seen them put into practice before now.

After the beads were fully inserted, he pushed his cock inside her cunny. He reached around and manipulated her breasts, pulling and teasing the cherry-colored nipples as he took her from behind. The harsh slapping noise as their flesh met time and again, coupled with the sight of such a rough fucking, made Margaret’s own quim weep with longing. Her nipples were tightening to the point of aching as they pushed against the thin fabric of her shift. Reflexively she rubbed a hand across one breast to relieve the yearning, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She pinched one nub, sending a bolt of electricity straight to her nether region.

As the young man kissed Fiona’s neck, his gaze wandered lazily to the door where Maggie stood. Startled, Maggie took a half step back and covered her mouth to silence a gasp.

The young MacKay’s lips quirked into a smile as he gestured for her to stay. Fi, oblivious to his command and to Maggie’s presence, closed her eyes and tossed her head back. He put his hands on her hips and slowed his thrusts to a teasing pace.

Maggie placed a hand on her chest to steady her heartbeat. Mere seconds later, the man placed his hand over Fi’s heart in mirror image of Maggie.

Fi mewed as she squirmed against him. “Squeeze my bubbies again, aye?”

Her lover flashed his eyes at the door and nodded to Maggie. Why is he looking at me? She narrowed her eyes in confusion. With the hand that wasn’t on Fi’s chest, he motioned for Maggie to touch her own breast. Bashfully, she shook her head in protest. He nodded an affirmative.

“Please, Malcolm! Touch me like before.”

He raised an eyebrow at Maggie, motioning once again for her to obey him.

She felt the heat blazing in her cheeks as she considered it. Nay, I mustn’t! How scandalous!

She couldn’t…

“Malcolm.”

It quickly became evident he wasn’t going to fulfill Fiona’s wishes until Maggie conformed. For just a moment she felt a twinge of guilt, but quickly shook it off. Alex had used her. She owed him nothing. In fact, it served him justly for what he’d done—and the temptation for revenge became too strong to ignore.

Maggie’s hand slipped to the side, covering a tender breast. Malcolm followed her lead.

Her veins thrummed with adrenaline, the potency of their strange ménage taking hold of her. She was being controlled by this handsome stranger and Fiona, whether or not she realized it, was finally at Maggie’s mercy.

How wicked!

Malcolm silently instructed her to tease her nipple. Maggie flicked the nub once, twice, and he followed suit.

“Ooh…” Fi moaned, grinding her bottom against his pelvis.

Maggie felt her pussy growing wetter and hotter each time he thrust himself inside Fi. She imagined it was Alex and her, his thick cock filling her as only he could. Damn him for being such a heathen! She needed to be fucked. Hard.

Her mound began to throb.

Malcolm motioned her hand lower. Maggie blazed a trail from her breasts to her abdomen, then on to her aching mound. He ran his fingers from Fi’s buxom chest to her navel, from her navel to her quim, and waited. Maggie’s breathing grew ragged, and she feared she would give herself away. Between Fi’s moaning and her lover’s grunts, she had little to be concerned about. Brazenly, Maggie rubbed her clit through the fabric of her shift. She bit her bottom lip as the thrumming started, building quickly to a crescendo. Maggie leaned against the doorjamb for support as her body shuddered, melting her like snow in the spring sun.

Fi cried out, and Malcolm swiftly gripped the end of the string of beads. One by one each bead emerged, and her cries became louder and louder, her body racked by waves of pleasure.

Malcolm drove himself deep inside her, grunting as he released his seed. After a brief respite he began kissing her neck, her shoulders, and managed to give Maggie a conspiratorial grin.

Her heart was still beating wildly as she quietly closed the door and retreated to her room like the naughty girl she was.

* * * * *

Alex gripped his head as if that alone would stop the God-awful throbbing. How much had he imbibed the previous night? He remembered three tankards of ale and one of whiskey, but everything aft was a wee bit hazy to him. If his dirt-dry mouth was any indication, there had been many a mug he didn’t recall. He grimaced. It had been a long while since last he’d consumed so much in one evening, and now he recalled why he’d given up drinking for sport.

With the pads of his thumbs he rubbed his eyes, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep. He blinked until the sunlight became bearable and the room slowly came into focus, revealing an unfamiliar bedchamber. The door was in the wrong corner of the room to be his own. There were threadbare drapes to the side of the oblong window. Other than the bed he was lying on, a cluttered writing desk and a rather plain armoire, there were no furnishings to speak of. Where the devil was he?

Unhurriedly, he came to a sitting position. The pounding in his head returned with a vengeance, and he pressed his hands against his forehead. Ne’er again, he promised himself.

Alex heaved a sigh before letting his mind wander to the previous evening. He and Ian had gone to a hole-in-the-wall tavern halfway between Fi’s and home. The place was dark and reeked of stale ale, but the company there had offered a welcome reprieve from his thoughts. Perhaps his night had been ill spent playing cards and downing whiskey, but there was little else that could have taken his mind off Maggie Fraser. The combination of sadness and anger he’d seen in her eyes after their lovemaking had plagued him.

If he didn’t get his head cleared in a hurry, his conscience would weigh him down and drown him.

With his body protesting, Alex stretched and threw the covers off his naked form. He scrubbed at the whiskers on his face and frowned. Once he arrived home, he was taking his blade to the unruly stubble. He’d almost forgotten what the skin beneath felt like.

The floorboards felt cool beneath his feet as he brought his unsteady form upright. As soon as he dressed, he’d find something to take the vile taste off his tongue. Carefully, he leaned over and grabbed the corner of his kilt, hauling it off the floor. Beneath it lay his shirt, his boots and—

“What in the hell?” The silky ivory shift glimmered in the sunlight. He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, holding it at arm’s length. His heartbeat quickened as the implication registered in his mind.

But he hadn’t been that drunk. Had he?

He vaguely recalled the dark-haired, doe-eyed barmaid who’d waited on them. She wasn’t homely, but hardly anyone he would have taken to bed even if Maggie hadn’t ruined him for other women. There was also the little redheaded fox working the back of the room that kept smiling at him, but he’d not said a word to her all night. Even with his inhibitions down, there hadn’t been a woman there who’d caught his eye. Not even the lady who’d come to sit in his lap during the last hand of cards. She had whispered her wishes in his ear just before he…

Oh sweet Mary, mother of Jesus!

He dropped the garment and threw his clothes on in record time, anxious to be away from… Well, wherever he was. He’d take care of his thirst and his pounding headache later. No doubt he deserved every bit of pain he was experiencing for violating Maggie’s trust. She would never know, but he knew—even if he couldn’t recall it.

He cautiously scanned the hallway before leaving the room. It looked to be midmorning, and the house’s occupants had to be up and about. The last thing he needed was an interrogation for which he had no answers. The sooner he let himself out, the better.

There was a quiet pattering coming from what appeared to be the kitchen, and he was careful to stay clear of it as he found the back door. His fingers curved around the knob and turned it slowly. He cringed at the squeal it made as it moved. As soon as he had enough of an opening, he squeezed himself through and out onto the porch.

Where the hell is Thunder? He squinted against the bright sun, trying to get his bearings. There was a stable two buildings down, and he made a mad dash for it. His head still pounded, but he paid it no heed. He had but one mission, and that was to get out of there without further ado.

He spotted Thunder just after swinging open the stable doors. Never had he been so happy to see the mischievous beast. Though he couldn’t undo his misdeeds, it was best he left now. Later, once he had his wits about him, he would seek out the woman and make a formal apology for his misbehavior.

Alex grabbed Thunder’s reins and led him through the stable doors. A hand clasped down firmly on his shoulder, and Alex nearly left his skin.

“Where are ye going in such a hurry?” Ian asked after a chuckle.

When Alex’s heartbeat returned to normal, he glared at his friend. “What are ye doing here?”

Ian tilted his head and gave Alex a quizzical look. “Do ye no’ remember? We came here last night.”

Alex’s eyes darted around and he hoped beyond hope the woman didn’t spy him before he could make his escape. “Both of us?” It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d shared a woman, but it would be the last.

Ian nodded. “Ye were supposed to sleep on the floor, but ye passed out on her bed afore we finished getting undressed. Ye ken any of it now?”

Alex shook his head slowly, even that small movement making his head pound. “Ye mean to tell me I didna do anything with her?”

Ian grinned. “Nay! In fact, ye told her as much at the tavern. That’s why she and I left together.”

“Ye did? Why am I here, then?”

“Ye followed us on yer horse. It’s a wonder ye made it here alive, weaving atop of Thunder the way ye did.”

Alex relaxed his shoulders. Thank the Lord! “Her clothes were underneath mine. I just assumed.”

His friend chuckled again. “Dunna fasch yerself. Ye have remained faithful to yer lady love.” He leaned closer. “And thank ye. Miss Anne fucks better than a seasoned courtesan. Ye missed a right tight one, friend.”

Alex’s cock stirred. There was only one pussy he wanted to bury himself in, and he would do so just as soon as this business with the Duke of Westingham was finished.

* * * * *

Margaret’s chest felt hollow. If her heart had deserted her, it was just as well. She no longer needed it.

Her fingers tangled in the lace collar of the dress as she turned it to and fro. It was a beautiful shade of green, nearly matching the willow tree outside the window. The cut of the dress was every bit the rage in London—or so Fiona had said. It was demure yet hinted at what lay beneath. Perfect for a tête-à-tête with the virgin-devouring duke.

It was just as well that Alex was a rake and a liar. If he’d been a gentleman, Maggie wasn’t at all sure she could be intimate with the duke. She gave an unladylike snort. If Alex was a gentleman, he wouldn’t have used me so.

Her bottom lip trembled. Not these blasted tears again. She’d cried enough in the past day to last a lifetime.

Choking back a sob, she stood and paced the wood floor. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taken aback at her bloodshot eyes. “Margaret Fraser, you are strong. You’ve always known he was a rake. When next you see him, remember you deserve far better than that.”

She went to the window and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with warm afternoon air. She’d had enough of her sulking. It was time to put Alex in the past and concentrate on how to approach the duke.

Perhaps she’d even feel a bit of relief once the duke took her, knowing how much Alex despised him. In fact, she just might make sure Alex knew every lurid detail.

The bastard deserved it.

* * * * *

Alex rotated his dirk from blade tip to the bottom of its hilt and back again, chipping away tiny bits of wood from the worn table. Every minute or so he’d glance up at the door, expecting his friend’s return. It had been Ian’s idea to venture out and confirm the duke’s plans, leaving Alex to ruminate.

Alex wasn’t a patient man.

If he had his way, he’d meet the duke on his journey to Scotland and end his reign of perversion then and there. Ian had balked, claiming it a fool’s mission. There would be any number of men traveling in the party, and they’d be armed to the teeth. The Duke of Westingham is a heathen, but he’s no’ an idiot. No Englishman with half a wit would travel to the Highlands without protection, aye?

Damn, but he had a point. Even if Ian wasn’t concerned for his own life, there was a chance he’d be taken out before he could accomplish the task.

Alex stuck his dirk in the center of the table and went to the dwarfed window. He moved the threadbare curtain to the side and searched for any sign of Ian. What was taking so blasted long?

It was another half an hour before the door opened behind him. Alex spun around and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the drastic change in light.

“Ye were correct. He’ll be here on the morrow,” Ian confirmed after shutting the door quietly behind him. “If we keep watch, we’ll be sure to know when he’s alone.”

Alex clenched his fists. There were no words to describe his loathing of the duke, and nothing but the duke’s death would remedy that hatred. With any luck at all, this would all be over within a few days’ time.

He’d waited this long. Another eight and forty hours shouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.