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DUNCAN
His brother James came for dinner. Duncan and James had their share of fisticuffs as lads, but they got along well enough as adults. Of course, James was far more pleasant than Duncan would ever be. He always had a ready smile and an amusing story and made everyone feel at ease.
Duncan appreciated those qualities immensely this evening when the table felt like a heavy shroud had been laid over it. Ines sat quietly at one end, hands in her lap, saying nothing. Duncan assumed she’d finished the lace cuffs this afternoon, but he did not yet think she’d given them to his mother. Miss Wellesley and Stratford sat across from one another, but they tried so hard not to look at each other it was almost painful to watch.
Duncan didn’t know why Stratford didn’t just propose to his cousin and have it over with. It was obvious to Duncan, whenever he’d seen them together, that Stratford cared for her. Watching them over the course of their travels to Scotland had only made it clearer that Miss Wellesley felt the same way about Stratford. The two of them seemed a perfect pair—friends since childhood, close families, and an obvious attraction.
Duncan and Ines had attraction—they had more than attraction. Ines loved him, and he—Duncan would not allow himself to think too much about what he felt for her. He’d wanted to avoid the pain of loss. It was a pain he knew well from losing his father. But try as he might to keep Ines at arm’s length and far from touching his heart, she’d found a way in. Duncan didn’t know how she’d done it. No other woman had ever even breached the drawbridge of his heart. If a woman drew near his fortifications, it was easy to scare her away with gruff words or an outrageous act.
Ines had seen him at his best and his worst. His most outrageous—well, perhaps not his most outrageous—and his most gruff. And she still wanted him. But the fact was Duncan could not have her. Even if Draven agreed to allow them to marry, Lady Charlotte would never accept her. And how could he go against his mother? Hadn’t he caused her enough pain in her life?
“Isnae that right, Duncan?” James said, and Duncan realized his brother had been telling some anecdote in which he played a part.
“I would caution the party nae tae believe everrathing my brother says,” Duncan said, feeling that was the safest response.
“Dinnae believe everrathing I say?” James countered. His eyes were bright and his cheeks ruddy. With his beard, he looked very much like Duncan remembered their father. Duncan glanced at his mother, and saw she wore a wistful look as she listened to James entertain the party. He knew she was thinking of her late husband too.
“Och, well, Duncan is the war hero. But do ye think we can get even one story oot of him? Nae. He’s like my oldest son. He goes tae school all day, and when I ask what he learned at the evening meal, he says nothing.” James looked at Stratford. “But perhaps ye have a story tae tell us of my brother’s bravery.”
Stratford looked at Duncan, and it was easy to read Stratford’s expression. They had lost eighteen men of their troop. Eighteen brothers. Nothing they had endured was fodder for dinner conversation. Stratford could undoubtedly tell stories of Duncan rushing into a fight. Of course, if Duncan had saved one man, there was another story of when he had not been fast enough. The Survivors had an unwritten rule that they did not tell each other’s tales.
Stratford cleared his throat. “Duncan and I had very different orders,” he said. “We didn’t work together often enough for me to have any stories about him. I’m sorry.”
The shroud James had been trying so hard to lift descended again. The footman came in with a plate of candied and sugared nuts, and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief that dinner was almost over.
“I have a story,” Ines said.
Everyone looked at her. She’d said only a few words at dinner and then only when someone had spoken to her directly.
“I am not a storyteller like you, senhor,” she said, looking directly at James. “But I do know your brother is brave. He saved my life.”
Duncan felt heat climb up his neck to the freshly shaved skin of his jaw. He knew what she would say, and he wanted to take her arm and pull her out of the room—anything to stop her from telling this story in this place to these people.
“Och, do go on,” James said, motioning for the footman to fill his wine glass. “I would like tae hear this. Dinnae ye want tae hear, Mama?”
“I do.” Her eyes shone with mirth. She did not know what was coming.
“It’s late,” Duncan said, standing. “The ladies must want their beds by now.”
“Sit down,” Lady Charlotte said. “We have time for one story.”
Duncan looked at Ines, but she did not return his gaze. He knew what she was about. She wanted to say something about him that would impress his mother and brother. She wanted to boast about him. That was the type of person she was—kind and giving. She couldn’t know this story would not have the effect she anticipated.
“Ines,” he said.
James waved his wine glass. He was half-drunk or he might have caught at least one of the cues Duncan was sending. But then James had always been a bit of an arse, so maybe he would not have cared. “Let’s hear the story, lass.”
Duncan glared at him and James smiled, knowing exactly what he had done to raise his brother’s ire. “Forgive me. Miss Neves, proceed with the story.”
She gestured to Miss Wellesley. “We had stopped for the day near a river, and Miss Wellesley and I had gone to wash our hands and faces. We had taken the dog with us...”
She went on, telling the story of how Loftus had chased after a noise and how the ladies had followed and thought it might be a wolf. Duncan sat stiff and straight-faced while his mother and brother smiled at the idea of wolves and then watched as their faces slowly drained of color as they realized what the ladies had thought were wolves were actually reivers. Ines noticed, of course. She was used to watching people closely as any good merchant was. She obviously thought his family’s reaction was one of concern, so she hurriedly told them how Duncan and Stratford had ambushed the men and saved her. She gave Loftus praise as well, but when she had finished, no one spoke or smiled.
Miss Wellesley tried to fill the silence. “Thank goodness for Mr. Murray and Mr. Fortescue’s quick thinking else we might not all be here.”
“And I’m certain you were terrified, Miss Neves,” Stratford said. Duncan winced as his two friends dug his grave deeper.
“Não.” Ines said. “I knew Duncan would come for me.”
“Of course, he would,” James said. “He’s always looking for trouble, aren’t ye, brother?”
Duncan said nothing.
“Ye see, this isnae his first experience with reivers,” James went on, his face red now, but not from drink. “Years ago, he decided tae run away and had a run in with a group of reivers. He soon found himself their prisoner.”
“That’s enough, James,” his mother said, but her voice was barely a whisper.
James did not seem to hear her. “My father went after him, but he was nae as lucky as ye were. He was killed in the skirmish.”
“Excuse me,” Lady Charlotte said, rising and leaving the room.
Ines looked pale. “I am so sorry. I did not know—”
James waved his cup before refilling it. “Why would ye, lass? Duncan likes tae play the hero. He doesnae like tae talk aboot the time he got his own father killed.”
“Now wait a minute,” Stratford said, rising.
Duncan shook his head, and Stratford frowned at him. But why should his friend defend him when everything James said was true? Duncan was the reason his father was dead. His stupidity, his impulsiveness—traits that had earned him the playful sobriquet Lunatic in combat—were also the reason his father was dead.
“Nae worries, brother,” Duncan said. “I willnae stay home long. I dinnae want tae be a constant reminder of the worst day in yer life.”
“Yer such an idiot,” James said. “Ye think any of us want ye gone? It only hurts her more when ye leave.” James pointed to the ceiling, presumably indicating his mother’s room above. “But then ye always were a selfish bastard.”
Duncan did not even realize his feet had moved until he was on the other side of the room with his hand wrapped about his brother’s neck and James’s head pushed against a wall. For all his strong words, James was not a fighter. He had always been the diplomat of the family. Undoubtedly that was why their uncle valued him so much and why James was always at the laird’s castle. Now James struggled under Duncan’s grip, and as much as Duncan wanted to slam his fist into his brother’s face, it would not make his father come back.
He stared at James, and James stared back at him, and then Duncan felt a warm hand on his arm. He looked down, and Ines was there. “Não,” she said. And then, “I am so sorry.”
The look of true grief on her face all but undid him. Duncan dropped his brother as the pain tore through him. He felt as though he were being ripped apart. And how could he stand here, in the dining hall, and allow everyone to see his insides spill out? That was how it felt, as though someone had taken a blade and cut across his chest and now his heart was exposed and vulnerable.
With a growl, Duncan stalked out of the room, not seeing where he was going or caring. He just needed to get away. And then he just needed air, to fill his lungs with something other than pain and grief and, yes, guilt.
He stumbled into the night. Even though it was summer, it was still cool in the Highlands, and the chilly night was like a slap in the face. He did not know where to go so he made his way through the courtyard to stand at the edge and look up at the rising mountains and the blanket of stars above. He’d missed this in London. Once he’d been away from the city, he could see so many more stars, but he hadn’t taken the time to look at them until now. He remembered all the times he and James and Moira sat outside on a summer night and looked at the stars, the sweet smell of his father’s pipe tobacco drifting around them.
How many times had Duncan wished he could bring those moments back? How many times had he pushed the pain of loss away by running into danger? He’d loved his father, loved him as he’d never loved anything or anyone else, and he’d killed him.
The sound of a shoe crunching on a leaf made him turn. “Go back inside, Ines.”
“I think you should not be alone now.”
“I want tae be alone.” He turned away from her, but she came to stand beside him anyway.
“I do not think so. I am sorry my story brought up such painful memories. I meant—”
“I ken what ye meant. It’s nae yer fault. Ye dinnae ken.”
Her hand was tentative on his arm. He knew he should push it away, but he wanted her touch right now.
“Why did you not tell me? I knew there was something wrong after you saved me from the reivers, but I thought I had done something. Said something.”
He looked at her. He should send her inside, shouldn’t say anything more. But he was raw now and vulnerable, and he couldn’t seem to stop the words from gushing forth. “Ye did do something. Ye made me realize how much I cared for ye, and ye had almost been taken from me, lass. I cannae let that happen again.”
“Let what happen again?” she asked, looking up at him. Her expression was so kind, her eyes so understanding.
“I cannae lose someone else I love,” he said, his voice low and harsh.
She nodded. “Now I know why you joined Benedict in the war. You wanted to die.”
Duncan did not speak, only stared at her.
“Because if you are not willing to risk losing what you love then you are not really living.”
He hadn’t been living for a long time. He had just been pretending to live. During the war, he’d taken every risk. He’d taken a good deal after the war too, but it seemed pointless. If God had wanted him dead, Duncan would be dead. There had been more than enough opportunities to strike Duncan down. But God wanted him alive, wanted him to continue to suffer. Yes, he’d gone to London, as his mother had commanded, and searched for a bride, but he hadn’t really tried. He’d scowled and stomped around so that every lady who met him would be scared away.
Every lady but one.
Duncan looked at Ines. “Go inside,” he said.
She shook her head. “I have words, Duncan, but my words are not any you have not heard before. I am sure you tell them to yourself. The death of your father was not your fault.”
Duncan took a shaky breath. How many people had said that to him? His mother? His uncle? His sister. Even James. But Duncan had never said it to himself. Could never believe it.
“But you need to say the words,” Ines said. “And believe them in here.” She lifted a hand and tapped his chest. Her touch seemed to burn through the layers of his clothing. “Only then will you be willing to risk the hurt again.”
“And when did ye become so wise, lass?”
“I have lost too. When I left with Catarina, I lost my mother and sisters and friends—the village full of people I had known all of my life. I lost my father, though he was not a good man. I still miss them, but I have met others who I have come to care about—friends in Lisbon and Barcelona.” She tapped his chest again. “Friends in London. There has been pain but also joy.”
Duncan understood what she meant. The men of Draven’s troop had become like his brothers. Losing many of them had caused him pain but knowing them had also given him joy.
He hadn’t cared for any of them like he cared for Ines. He hadn’t risked getting too close to any of them, knowing anyone he cared for could be snatched away with the flick of a blade or the firing of a pistol.
“I love you, Duncan,” Ines said, and her words were like that pistol ball slamming into his heart. “And if you do not love me back, then that will hurt. I have been hurting for the past few days, afraid you did not care.”
Duncan hated to hear that he’d hurt her. He hadn’t considered that while he was trying to protect his own heart, he had caused her pain.
“I do care,” he said. He put his arm about her waist and pulled her to him. He couldn’t seem to resist the pull of her, the warmth of her body and the softness of it against his. He needed her touch, had missed it so much.
“Show me,” she said. “I want to love you. I want to feel what it is to really live. If only for one night.”
Her words robbed him of breath. Desire slammed through him so hard, he had to close his eyes to maintain control. And then he wondered why he was fighting it. He wanted her. Almost from the first time they’d met, their joining had been inevitable, and now it would be so much more than an act of lust. For once he wanted to risk something more than his body. He wanted to risk his heart.
Duncan pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear, feeling her tremble as he touched her. “Are ye sure, lass?”
She smiled. “With you, I am always sure.”
He bent and swept her into his arms, causing her to gasp then giggle. “What are you doing, senhor?”
“Sweeping ye off yer feet.”
He carried her to the side of the house, used his toe to open a back door, and started up the rarely used staircase. Ines was no great weight in his arms, and still his heart pounded as though he carried a load of bricks. He was not afraid of making love to her. He’d been with other women. But he had never given any of them his heart, and he had known since the first time he kissed Ines that if—no, when, it had always been a matter of when—their bodies came together it would be a melding of not only flesh but also hearts and souls.
He did not know if his heart was strong enough to risk loving her back. But he didn’t know if it was strong enough not to love her either.
He reached the top of the stairs and turned to the first door on his right. He’d often used these stairs to sneak out at night when he’d been a boy as they had been so close to his room. Now he shoved a foot against his door, and it flung open. He kicked it closed behind him then walked to his bed and laid Ines on the coverlet.
His impulse was to fall down beside her, strip her, and take her then. He made himself slow down. He needed a moment to slow the pounding of his heart and the shaking of his hands. Duncan went to the lamp, feeling for the tinderbox beside it and lighting a match before touching it to the wick inside the lamp. He opened the shutter further and turned to Ines. He wanted to see her, and he was not disappointed. She was beautiful—lying on the bed, her hair half falling out of the simple style she’d worn, her cheeks pink, and her eyes dark with anticipation. Duncan went to her, kneeling on the bed and looking down at her. She lifted her arms to him, and he went into them willingly.
She was small, but she held him so tightly, so fiercely. His mouth found hers, teasing her lips until she opened for him and he could stroke inside, tasting her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her was intoxicating, but it was also right. It was as though he was meant to kiss this woman, to touch this woman. As though he had been waiting all of his life to find her.
With a low growl, he rose to his knees and looked down at her, her dark eyes, her red cheeks, her now-swollen lips. His gaze drifted to her dress. He was uncharacteristically nervous. His hands fumbled at her bodice, searching for pins or tapes or whatever the hell women used to keep their underthings from showing, but Ines shooed his hands away.
“Let me.” She sat, and he groaned. She had that look in her eye that told him she would happily torture him. Slowly, she drew the first dress pin out, placed it on the table next to his bed, then smiled up at him. Oh, this was sweet torture.
“Dinnae stop now, lass.”
She reached for another, drew that one out, and placed it neatly beside the last.
“Ines,” Duncan said. “Do ye mean tae kill me? My heart is racing like a horse after a long run.”
“Sim. It is for all the times you teased me.” Her voice, low and husky, caused heat to surge through his loins.
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I can persuade ye tae hurry up a bit.” He might not know much about how a dress was put together, but he knew what was under one. He sat back, took one of her feet and made short work of her boot. He dropped it on the floor then discarded the second boot. Ines set another pin beside the first two.
Duncan reached under her skirts, found her garters, and loosened one. He tried not to feel how soft her skin was, how silky and tempting. Gritting his teeth, he rolled her stocking down. Ines had paused, with her hand over her heart to watch him. He slid the stocking over her foot, but instead of reaching for the other, he held her foot. Her foot was small in his big hand, and he imagined if she felt anything like him, her feet ached from all the walking they’d done. Lightly, he pushed a thumb into the pad of her foot, and she moaned. The sound of her pleasure almost undid him. It was an addictive sound. He wanted more and more. He continued massaging, working his way over her foot, and watching the way her eyes closed and her shoulders drooped with relaxation.
“Lass, yer supposed tae be removing those pins.”
“This feels too good.”
As impatient as he was to have her naked, he moved to her heel and pressed his thumb into it. Her head fell back as she moaned again. Christ but she was a sensual creature.
He reached for the other leg, pulled the stocking down, and began to massage that foot. With one leg on either side of him, he was in exactly the position he wanted. He was still massaging, when she finally opened her eyes and plucked at the bodice of her gown. The materials fell away, and she lifted her shoulders and removed the rest. Next she reached for her skirts, but she couldn’t drop those with him between her legs.
With a curse, he stood and pulled off his coat and loosened his neckcloth, while she squirmed out of her skirt. He’d just finished with his boots when he looked up and saw her standing only in her shift. She was shivering. Of course, she was. He’d banked the fire and it gave off little to no heat. He pulled her close and kissed her. He could feel her slim body under the thin linen. His hands began to roam, but she kissed him and then moved away. “Take off your shirt,” she said.
His brows rose even as his blood pumped harder. “Ye think ye can tell me what tae do now?”
She nodded. “Take it off.”
Christ and all the saints, but he liked it when she gave him an order. He was so hard now, it was painful. In a hurry, he pulled the tail from his trousers, unfastened the sleeves, and yanked the linen over his head. Before he could grab her, she held out a hand to still him.
“Wait.”
Now he was the one to groan as her hands went to his shoulders, then ran down his arms. Her touch was like liquid fire, making all of his senses come alive. When her fingers slid over to his chest and down to his belly, he inhaled sharply. Her skillful fingers toyed with his waistband. “What is under here?”
“For a virgin, ye arenae verra demure.” His voice was a low growl, and he felt like a caged beast, ready to pounce at the first chance of freedom.
She frowned. “What is the demure?”
“Nothing I want, lass. Loosen the placket and see what’s there.” Please. He needed her to touch him.
Bold as ever, she didn’t hesitate. She’d told Duncan she wanted him almost from the start, and even though he’d been a complete arse, she hadn’t changed her mind. She unfastened the trousers and he sprang free, hard and hot against her small hand. He had to bite his cheek to keep control as his head went dizzy with arousal. She murmured something in Portuguese.
“I hope that was a compliment,” he said.
She gave him an enigmatic smile then moved her hands to his hips and slid the trousers down. When his trousers were on the floor, she moved around him, running her hands over his bottom then giving it a squeeze. His entire body quivered at her touch, and though Duncan liked a forward woman as much as any man, he’d been pushed to his limit. When she moved to his side, he grasped her hands and yanked her to him. “Like what ye see?”
“Very much.” Her voice was breathless and her eyes hazy with desire.
“My turn.” Releasing her hands, he grasped her shift in both hands and pulled it up and over her head. He thought she might try and cover herself, but she stood straight in the flickering lamplight. Her skin was smooth and olive, her breasts small and tilted upward, the nipples dusky and hard. The small triangle of dark hair between her legs beckoned him. “Let me worship ye, lass.”
He dropped to his knees and kissed her belly, drawing her close with one hand on her round bottom. He left that hand there, kneading that ripe flesh while his mouth trailed lower, his tongue darting out to learn the feel of her and licking at her sensitive skin. Finally he was between her legs. She smelled of soap and the hint of vanilla that he always associated with her. And when his mouth found her lips, parted them, and then his tongue explored until it came upon that sensitive nub, he tasted her. Her body went rigid as he laved and suckled. He put both hands on her hips to hold her steady as she was shaking. Her hips began to move in an instinctual rhythm he knew well, and she moaned in that way that made him all but come just at the sound.
He could have done this all night. He loved the way she felt in his arms and the sounds she made. He’d never known what it was to be wanted this much.
She gasped and her body arched, and he knew if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed. Instead she wantonly pushed her sex against his mouth, and he felt the way she tightened and then exploded with release. Feeling pleased with himself, he grinned and decided to do it all over again. But she went limp. He let her fall over his shoulder then stood, her bottom in the perfect spot for his hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked dreamily.
“Putting ye in bed.” He dumped her onto the soft mattress, and she looked up at him in a tangle of limbs.
“That was much more romantic in my mind.”
“Imagined me doing that, did ye?”
“I imagined you doing many things.”
He wedged a knee between her legs, opening them, enjoying the view of her glistening pink sex. “Ye dinnae need tae imagine any more.” He kissed her, and she wrapped herself around him. Her skin slid against his skin, her flesh warm against his. His cock knew exactly where it wanted to be, and he pushed the head against her warm, wet entrance.
“Sim,” she said, her voice filled with desire.
“I dinnae want tae hurt ye, lass.”
She pushed his hair back from his face. “My sister says the pain is worth the pleasure. Can you make it worth the pleasure?”
It sounded like a challenge, and Duncan was always ready for a challenge. He kissed her again, entered her slightly. She was so tight and felt so good as she closed around him. At her moan he had to restrain himself from plunging in. Instead, his fingers found that tight, swollen nub and stroked it. He thought it might take time for her to react. After all, she’d just orgasmed, but a moment later, she was breathing heavily and moving her hips in an undisguised invitation. He slid in deeper, pausing when her channel was too tight, allowing her to adjust to the feel of him and allowing himself to catch his breath.
His lips found her breast, closing in on the nipple and suckling as his fingers danced against her. Her hips arched, and it took all he had not to thrust inside her. He slid just a bit deeper, and Christ but he wanted to sheath himself in her. “Am I hurting ye, lass?” he murmured between teeth gritted against the growing pleasure.
“Sim. Não. Duncan!”
He knew what she wanted, knew he could give it to her. He pressed his thumb against her throbbing clitoris, and she cried out and stiffened. Duncan squeezed his eyes shut at the feel of her muscles clenching around him, and then as soon as they began to loosen, as she began to come down, he slid deeper. He expected her to cry out in protest at the discomfort, but she clawed at his back, urging him closer. He moved slowly until he was buried inside her, his face in her neck, her legs wrapped around him.
This. Yes, this. He had lived all of his life to be here with this woman, in this moment.
He looked down at her, and her dark eyes met his. “Show me,” she said.
He moved inside her, watched her wince slightly, then relax. He was careful, gentle, and gradually, she moved with him, learning his rhythm, her breath beginning to hitch when he pressed in just the right places. He might have been able to pleasure her again, but he had restrained himself too long. His own need crested, and he swore. “I cannae wait, lass.” With a feral growl, he gave himself to the pleasure, pulling out and spilling his seed on garments scattered beside them. And then he collapsed beside her, gathering her close, needing her near him. His hands roved her body, her hair, her lips. He did not know how he had survived without touching her, without having her scent surround him.
She moved in his arms, rolling to face him. Her leg slid up his body, making his senses wake again even as she kissed him. The kiss was as sweet and seductive as any he’d ever experienced. Her hand cupped his cheek, and the tenderness with which she touched him made his heart constrict. He knew what was coming next. Knew what she would say, and he wanted to hear it. He needed to hear those words from her.
“Duncan.” She kissed his cheek, his temple, his nose. “That was...how do I say...amazing?”
“Ye are amazing,” he murmured, turning his face to kiss the palm of her hand.
She laughed and kissed his eyelid then his brow and finally his lips. “Eu te amo.”
Duncan held her closer. “Did ye just say what I think ye did, lass?”
“Do you think I said...what is the English word?”
She was teasing him. He loved that she was teasing him, and he was also incredibly annoyed. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear that she loved him, wanted her to say it now, when they were close and naked and both still reeling from the pleasure of their lovemaking.
“Say it, lass,” he urged, nuzzling her neck.
She giggled. “How can I think when you do that?”
“Then I should stop?” He pulled back, and she squealed.
“Do not stop.” She pulled him back.
He nuzzled her again, this time behind the ear. “Say it, lass,” he whispered into her ear. She shivered.
“I love you, Duncan.”
Christ but his heart hurt. He thought it might burst from happiness and fulfillment and desire. She moved her head so that their eyes locked. “I love you,” she said again.
“Lass, I—” Duncan’s throat was tight. He swallowed.
A loud rap sounded on the door. “Christ and all the saints,” Duncan muttered. Then louder, “Go away!”
“I will not go away.” That was the unmistakable sound of his mother. “I know that trollop is in there with you, and I want her out of my house. Now!”