Susana opened the door to Keir and he entered. His nostrils flared. Hopefully he couldn’t smell what had just happened here.
But likely he could. His brow furrowed.
“I thought you would like to know,” he said in a clipped tone. “You have a visitor.”
Susana stepped farther away from Andrew, though there was clearly no need to try to hide what they’d been doing. Keir’s gaze flicked from one to the other and his jaw clenched.
Her body still trembled from the force of their passion; bliss still bubbled through her. She smoothed down her skirts and surreptitiously checked that her bodice was in place. “Who is it?”
“Laird Scrabster, my lady.”
Her head shot up. Her stomach heaved. Her face formed an automatic grimace, the reaction she always had to that name. “What the bluidy hell does he want?”
Keir lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps to offer for you again?”
Aye, that was usually why he made the day-long journey to Dounreay. He always left unfulfilled. He always would.
Andrew stiffened. A tiny growl emanated from him. “I doona think I like this man,” he muttered.
Her glance was a tad derisive. “Just wait till you meet him,” she whispered.
As they made their way down to the parlor, Keir didn’t say a word. But then, his glares spoke for him. Susana knew it was because he worried about Andrew and his men; he was convinced the traitor was in their midst, but Susana wasn’t so sure.
She didn’t know how to reassure Keir that the men from Dunnet hadn’t been the ones who had betrayed Dounreay, but they would need to have that conversation. She didn’t like having the two men at odds like this. It was not productive.
That the traitor was probably one of his men would be difficult for Keir to swallow, because he had hired every man in their forces. It meant one of his men had turned against them. Once they had dealt with Scrabster, she would meet with Andrew and Keir, and together they would devise a plan to flush out the traitor. And they needed to do so at once.
Her impatience to deal with this pressing issue made Scrabster’s visit even more annoying, which was surprising. His visits were, in and of themselves, annoying enough. He tended to be long-winded and pompous and overstay his welcome.
She and Andrew entered the parlor, though Keir remained at the door. Scrabster was seated with Papa and he had a whisky in his hand, though Papa’s expression made clear that sharing his whisky with Scrabster—no matter what propriety demanded—was a burden.
Andrew wandered over to lean against the mantel, her silent supporter, but Scrabster ignored him, as he ignored Keir. He ignored almost everyone. Except her. He set his tumbler on the side table and leaped to his feet as he saw her. He was a smallish man, reedy and thin, with an unpleasant arrangement of features. His nose was long and hooked and his eyes had a birdlike glint. It was his fingers that repulsed her the most, bony and knobby. That and the whine in his voice. “Susana, my dear,” he said, coming across the room to take her hands in his.
She winced and detangled as quickly as she could. His skin was clammy and his grip far too avaricious. He leaned in to kiss her cheek and she whirled away.
Though she normally didn’t partake of whisky—especially in the afternoon—she felt the need for a dram now. She poured herself a drink and motioned to Andrew to do the same. He declined with an almost imperceptible wave of his hand. Though he appeared to be relaxed, his muscles were taut; he hummed with tension.
Surely it couldn’t be jealousy. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that Scrabster was no threat to his claim on her.
Not that he had one.
Not that he wanted one.
This was a blissful fling for him. Of this she had no doubt.
It was a blissful fling for her as well.
She ripped her focus from the man who seemed to capture every ort of her interest and turned to their visitor. “To what do we owe this … honor?”
Scrabster retook his seat and pinned her with a beady stare. “Susana, my dearest.” She shuddered. “I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I heard that you’ve been having troubles.”
She sat on the divan and glanced at her father. Surely he had not notified Scrabster of their recent problems. With a shake of his head he confirmed it.
“I’m sure I doona know what you are talking about.”
Scrabster tsked. His lip curled. It was almost a smile. He drummed his bony fingers on his knee. “The raids? The burned-out crofts? Why, I heard the brigands even tried to kidnap your daughter.”
Susana almost bit her tongue, she clamped her teeth so hard. “Where did you hear that?” It had happened yesterday, for Christ’s sake.
Scrabster’s eyes flickered about the room. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, have my sources.”
Her skin prickled. If Scrabster had “his sources,” that meant only one thing. The traitor in their midst was working with him. Andrew had realized the same. His features tautened. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Regardless of where I heard this distressing news, it is verra clear, your people, your family, your daughter are not safe. And I have come to save you,” he announced in a benevolent tone.
“Save me?”
“Offer you my … protection.” That he said this in a lurid hiss didn’t calm the churning in her gut.
“That is verra generous of you—”
His stubby lashes flickered. His smile was smug. “I know—”
“But we doona need your help.”
Scrabster blinked.
“Dunnet has sent men.”
Scrabster blew out a dismissive snort. “Bah. Dunnet. You canna count on him in the long term.”
Susana bristled. She noticed Andrew did as well. “Of course I can count on him. He’s family. He’s married to my sister.”
“Aye. But rumor has it, he will not be laird much longer.”
She didn’t like the glimmer in his eye, or the glee with which he imparted such news. “What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it, he has run afoul of the Duke of Caithness and will soon lose his barony.”
“You hear a lot of rumors,” Andrew said.
Scrabster’s attention swung to him. His long nose twisted. “And who the bluidy hell are you?”
Andrew straightened, drawing himself up to his full height. “Dunnet’s brother.”
It was gratifying to see Scrabster pale. His Adam’s apple made the long journey up and down his skinny neck.
Papa grinned, clearly pleased with Scrabster’s discomfort and willing to incite more. “This is Andrew Lochlannach. He is leading the defenses at Dounreay.” He leaned in and grinned. “A damn fine warrior.”
“And mark my words,” Andrew said in a cold clear voice, “we willna show mercy to the enemies of Dounreay.”
Oooh. She liked the way he said that.
Scrabster did not. His face puddled up as though he’d just eaten something sour. “I am not an enemy of Dounreay.” That he felt the need to make the statement bespoke his guilt.
“I certainly hope not.” Susana shivered at the menace in Andrew’s tone, even though it wasn’t directed at her; it certainly took Scrabster aback. His eyes widened and his nostrils quivered. He tore his gaze from Andrew’s fierce visage and focused on her.
“Susana. I must speak to you … alone.”
A ripple ran over her skin. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. “There is no need for privacy. Anything you have to say to me can be said before my father and my … and Andrew.”
Scrabster frowned. His gaze flicked from one man to the other. Andrew responded with a narrowing of his eyes, and Papa with a wide grin; he took a slurp of his drink. “But this is a delicate matter,” Scrabster said in a wheedling tone.
Susana deplored wheedling tones. She crossed her arms and glowered at him. “What is it?”
His lips worked. He adjusted his waistcoat. Cleared his throat. “Susana, you know I hold you in the highest esteem.”
Oh, bluidy hell. Not this again.
“I ask that you reconsider my suit.”
“I have told you countless times, I willna marry you.”
“But we’re so well matched.”
Where on earth had he gotten that idea? “Are we?” She glanced at Andrew. She didn’t know why. Surely it wasn’t to compare the two men, to consider, perhaps, how well matched she was with one of them.
“Our lands share a border.”
“These are not my lands.”
He flushed. “No, of course not. I meant to say, we share common interests. Common people.”
“Those are hardly good reasons for a marriage.” Aside from which, she didn’t want him and she never would. She didn’t even like him.
Scrabster forced a smile. It was a patronizing smile. Another thing she hated. “You have to marry sometime.”
“Do I?”
His eyes narrowed. “Of course you do. You’re a woman.”
How that signified, she didn’t know. But it certainly made clear his opinion of the fairer sex. They were nothing, worthless without a man, in his opinion. If she had ever been interested in him—and she had not—that alone would have soured her.
She stood and brushed out her skirts in a very deliberate manner. “I believe this interview is over.”
“Nonsense. We have much to discuss. Recent events have proven that Dunnet cannot protect you.” He fixed Andrew with a disdainful glare. “You need a man to keep you and your family safe. If you marry me, I will keep you safe.”
“Where is my bow?”
Scrabster’s nostrils flared. It was no secret she’d sent more than one suitor packing with an arrow in his hindquarters. Scrabster might not be so fortunate. She was vexed enough to aim for far more tender territory.
“I believe you left it in the foyer,” Andrew said. His lips twitched. “Would you like me to fetch it for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“I can shoot him,” a small voice piped up. Susana whirled to see Isobel at the door next to Keir with her bow in hand.
A wave of satisfaction and delight and, perhaps, a tinge of pride wafted through her. “If you’d like, darling.”
Isobel lifted her bow and narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t shot anything yet today.”
Scrabster scuttled to his feet. He glared at her and then he glared at Papa and Andrew and then Isobel in turn. “There is no need for violence. I was simply coming to visit a neighbor. To offer my assistance in these difficult times.”
“Ah.” Susana crossed her arms. “Is that why you have men massing at our borders?”
His eyes narrowed, but he forced a smile. “Men to come to your rescue, my dear.”
Why did she not believe him?
Andrew bristled. “If those men so much as step a toe across that border, we will consider it an act of aggression and will deal with it summarily.”
Scrabster pulled himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. He barely reached Andrew’s chin. “There is no need to be rude.”
“Is it rude to state the truth?” Andrew said through clenched teeth. “And it is the truth. Any threat to Dounreay will be answered with lethal force.” Andrew fingered the hilt of his sword.
Scrabster’s narrow eyes flared. He stepped back and back again, until he found himself at the door.
It was heartwarming that Isobel’s arrow tracked his every move. When he noticed, he flinched. His lip curled then and he stepped closer to Isobel, running his fingers through her hair. Susana’s stomach heaved. “Such a pretty girl,” he said. He affected an oily smile. “It would be a pity if anything should happen to her because you rejected my offer to protect you.”
Even as rage flooded her, Isobel hauled off and kicked him in the shins; Scrabster grabbed his leg and howled an invective at her, his eyes snapping with anger.
Susana bristled. The last thing she needed was Isobel learning more bad words.
“Why, you…” the bastard growled, and he reached for Isobel, but she scampered out of reach and across the room, throwing herself onto the sofa at Papa’s side.
Papa curled one arm around her in a protective manner, and then brushed at her hair, as though hoping to remove any remnant of Scrabster’s touch.
“I think it’s time you left,” Andrew suggested in a frosty tone, and when Scrabster snarled at him, he drew his sword. The steel hissed as it left the scabbard.
“I agree,” Susana said. “Keir, will you see Laird Scrabster out?”
Keir nodded and took Scrabster’s arm. As he tugged him into the hall, Scrabster warbled, “Mark my words, girlie. You will regret this.”
He continued to bellow his outrage as Keir led him from the castle. When his voice had faded, Susana whirled on Andrew. “I cannot stand that man.”
“I concur.” He sheathed his sword.
“Imagine the gall. Coming here. Threatening me. Intimating that without a husband I canna protect my daughter.”
Papa grunted; Susana frowned at him. “You agree with Scrabster?”
“Nae. I doona. But you must admit, if you had a husband, he would probably stop offering for you.”
Well, that silenced her impending tirade. It was true. No doubt it was true. She flicked a look at Andrew and then refocused her attention on her father. “A woman doesna marry for those reasons.”
Papa sighed. “And for what reason does a woman marry? Because I’ve been wondering.”
Isobel kicked her legs. “A woman marries when she falls in love.”
“Nonsense.” There was no such thing as love.
Isobel ignored her. She continued ticking reasons off on her fingers. “A woman marries when she finds a man she likes to kiss. A woman marries when she wants to have babies. A woman marries when she doesna want to be alone anymore…”
Susana ignored the fact that all those reasons applied to herself.
“A woman marries when the right man asks her.”
She rubbed at her face. “Isobel, isn’t there something you’d rather be doing?”
“Aye. But I canna go outside by myself.”
Papa grinned at her. “What do you say to a visit to the library?” His gaze flickered to her bow in a meaningful way and Isobel’s grin blossomed. He winked at Susana as he led her daughter away. Lord knew what mischief the two of them might get up to, but at least Isobel would be in safe hands. And she seemed to have accepted her restrictions.
“Are you all right?” Andrew asked. His hand was warm, comforting as he stroked her back. She leaned into his strength.
“Aye. But that man is so…”
“Aggravating?”
“That’s one word for it. Can you believe the nerve of that man?”
“Indeed. As though you would marry him.”
She rather liked the way he spat that. “I was talking about his veiled threats. That without him, my people are no’ safe. My daughter isna safe. And did you see the way he touched her?”
“If you like, I could follow him and chop off the offending hand.”
She peeped up at him. “Would you do that? For me?”
He chuckled. “Indeed, I would.”
“How romantic.” She nestled closer, enjoying their banter. Somehow, it calmed her. Of course, that could be the weight of his arms around her, or the drugging skim of his palm on her back.
“I would do anything to keep you safe, Susana. I’m here to protect you and Isobel, no matter what.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Something clogged her throat.
It might have been her heart.
* * *
Andrew sprawled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and aching. With the recent threats to Isobel, he knew he wouldn’t have a chance to be with Susana for the foreseeable future, unless they met for trysts like the one in the study today. That had been incredible. As he thought of it, it didn’t take long for his hand to drift down under the covers and start stroking his cock.
He closed his eyes and thought about her—her eyes, her hair, her tempting thighs—as his hand moved in a familiar rhythm.
With his passion high and his release nigh, the knock on the door was inconvenient.
He considered ignoring it, but only for a moment. Something could have happened. Susana might need him.
The knock came again, more insistently.
“One moment,” he called as he tugged on his breeks.
Whoever it was, was not patient. Another series of raps issued forth before he could cross the room. He flung open the door. “What is it—?”
His words stalled in his throat. Susana, draped in a cloak, hovered in the hallway.
He gaped at her.
She was the last person he’d expected. Tonight. In a cloak.
Inexplicably, she glared at him as she slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. Her brow furrowed. “Well, for pity’s sake, what took you so long? I could have been seen.” Her voice was sharp. Sharper than it should have been for a late-night visit like this.
He waved at the bed. “I was … um … Susana? What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.” She untied her cloak and swung it off, draping it over a chair.
“Why did you wear a cloak?” Indoors?
“I was skulking.”
He couldn’t stop his lips from tweaking. “Skulking?”
“Aye. I needed to see you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her smile was wicked. Ah. There it was. “I needed to see you.”
God, he needed to see her, too. But he didn’t sweep her into his arms as he wanted to. Not yet. “And Isobel?” For some reason, he needed the reassurance that she was all right before he could relax.
“She’s fine. She’s sleeping. She insisted on staying in her own room tonight.”
“That is promising.”
“Aye.”
“But we should set a guard.”
“I already have. One of yours and one of mine, in fact.” She stepped into his arms and tipped back her head so she could smile at him. When her groin nudged his, she frowned and wriggled against him. “What is this?”
“Do you no’ know?”
“I have an idea.” Her brows furrowed. “Why are you so hard?”
He considered his options—and the interest in her eyes—and decided he should tell her the truth. “I was thinking of you.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Are you always hard when you think of me?”
“Usually.”
“I want to see.” Though he protested, she pushed him back toward the chair by the fire. He sat with a thud and she knelt between his knees. Now, he should have stopped her—indeed, he intended to—but she reached for the placket of his breeks, opened them, and found his cock. And when she took it in her hands and stroked it as she studied it, he found himself unable to protest at all.
“It’s verra hard.”
He shuddered as she drew a questing finger around the thick head and then traced the fat vein along his length.
“And verra soft.” He shivered as she wrapped her hand around him and gave him a tentative pump.
“Ah, Susana. You’d better not,” he said.
Her enthusiastic expression crumpled. “Do you no’ like this?”
“I like it verra much, but I’m … God, doona do that.” He lurched as she began tickling his balls.
“Why not?”
He took her by the shoulders and then, upon second thought, caged her wrists. “Because I have been thinking about you,” he said meaningfully. “For a while.”
Her eyes went wide, as though she didn’t understand. He sighed. “Didn’t your husband … touch himself sometimes?”
She blinked up at him. “I … I doona know.” She glanced at his lap. “Were you touching yourself?”
He ignored her question. “You doona know?” How could a wife not know? Especially if she and Gilley had shared a bed … If they’d shared a bed. He narrowed his gaze on her. For a woman who had been married, she did seem rather ignorant of the ways of men.
Her chin firmed. She took hold of him again and countered with, “Were you touching yourself?”
“Aye.”
“I want to see.”
He gaped at her. “Susana…”
“Please, Andrew. Show me. I want to see.”
Heat crawled up his neck. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of his embarrassment or his desire. Or if it mattered in the least. “Susana, I want to make love to you.”
“Show me first.”
He sighed. “If I show you, it may be the end of me. I willna be able to make love to you … and I’d really rather make love to you.”
She issued a snort. “Do you no’ have any self-control?”
He snorted right back. “Nae.” Not with her, he didn’t. “You are a verra beautiful woman, Susana. I find myself lacking in any kind of control around you.”
Her lips curled. “I’m sure you can hold back.”
“I doona know from where you have acquired this foolish confidence in me.”
“Just show me a little.”
“All right.” He closed his eyes—because looking at her would surely incite disaster—and began to polish his knob. He did it slowly, because he couldn’t bear to move quickly.
He flinched when a whisper skated over the head of his cock. His eyes flew open and he eeped. No! Please God, no!
That something was her breath, warm and damp.
He hissed as her mouth closed over him. Of their own accord his eyes closed, his head fell back. Heaven and hell rained down on him as she sucked the tip of his cock. “Susana. Please.”
She released him with a plop. “You can hold back,” she whispered. “You’re a big, strong man,” She punctuated each word with a heinous pump.
“I canna.”
“You can. And you will.” The words were infused with an imperious tone that sent shivers through him. Her fist began moving faster, her mouth retook him, sucking him in.
Agony coiled at the base of his balls. Need rose within him, blinding and savage.
“Susana.” A plea.
She only tightened her grip. She added a little twist to each pass. Took him deeper, until her hand met her mouth, until she had him fully encased in one or the other. And then she sucked.
Insanity swelled. Bliss and glory and excruciating pleasure exploded within him, flooded his heart and mind and soul, as he released into her mouth.
He didn’t intend to, God help him he didn’t intend to, but she was far more woman than he could ever resist.
He gazed down at her as she lapped at her lips—and damned if that didn’t stir his ardor again. “Why did you do that?” he asked. He was certain there was no petulance in his tone.
Her smile was as satisfied as the cat that got the cream. “Because I wanted to know.”
“Know what?”
“Know what you taste like.”
A thousand questions spun in his head—including the most prominent: Had she ever done that for Gilley?—but he settled for, “What did you think?”
“What did I think?”
“Aye.” He swallowed heavily, waiting for her response on bated breath. Though this was not what he’d intended to happen, he had enjoyed it immensely.
“I think you are delicious.” Her expression lit a flame in his belly. “And I think I would verra much like to do that again sometime.”
Though she’d drained him utterly, his cock stirred.
God help him.