In the Laird's Bed

Her heavy heartbeat sped faster, anticipation humming in her veins even as she reminded herself that he could play this game far better than she could. Five years ago hadn’t he made her believe he cared about her, then raced away to another woman’s arms without ever acknowledging Edwina had a legitimate complaint against Donegal’s brutish behavior?

“I suppose it is easier not to miss something you’ve never had.” Her voice was naught but a whisper between them, a quiet confession for his ears only.

Time dragged out. She wished for some kind of intercession to break the spell he’d cast over her. But perhaps if she indulged this once—if she made a decision to take some small pleasure from him on her own terms—she would not be so plagued with wonder about the attraction she couldn’t deny.

“No good strategist makes a decision without adequate information.” His gaze tracked hers. He handled her gently despite her fears about the Culcanon brutishness. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the power of even one simple kiss.”

His lips covered hers before she could argue the point. And wasn’t it wicked of her that she did not want to argue it? The arrogant young laird could be mounting a takeover of her keep and yet all that concerned her right now was to test her fanciful memories of him against the truth of the flesh-and-blood man.

Pleasure flooded her faster than strong mead warmed the blood. At the feel of his mouth on hers, her knees wavered. His hand curved about her neck, holding her still for the quick, silken lash of his tongue along the fullness of her lip. She seemed to melt on contact, her whole body swaying until it found the steadying strength of his. Her lips parted, opening to his kiss.

In for a penny, in for a pound. At least this once.

Her fingers clutched at his cloak, seeking anything to steady herself. She gripped the fine wool in clenched fists as her body trembled beneath layers of the worn linen gown meant for working in the brew house. Now, that soft, much-washed fabric afforded her little protection from the raw masculine appeal of his muscular form. Her breasts pressed tight to his chest, the pleasant friction making her head spin with carnal thoughts no maid had a right to consider.

But the feel of her body against his consumed her. This was why she had not wanted to wed. The memory of her last kiss with Duncan had been thus and she feared it would not be the same with any other. For all that she was a maid, she knew deep down this kind of passionate potential did not exist between every man and woman. And—after once having the smallest taste of this soul-stealing excitement—she could not imagine settling for a cold coupling with some man twice her age.

“Cristiana.” Duncan spoke her name over her lips between kisses. “You were meant to be touched. Kissed. Tasted.”

Arching up on her toes, she brushed her mouth to his again, luring him back to wreak the skillful magic that made her senseless with desire. She just needed another moment. A last few stolen minutes to feel passion she’d never know again.

His hands locked about her waist. Holding her against him, yet restraining her from further contact. She blinked, confused.

“Why did you refuse me?” His voice was harsh, all traces of the silken-tongued suitor gone. “Why punish us both for a sin we did not commit? Was it not enough that Edwina broke her oath to Donegal? You had to break yours to me, as well?”

Her senses returned so quickly she felt a chill at the loss of passionate heat. She tried to wrench free, regret stinging sharp. His grip did not budge, however. Emerald eyes pierced hers, demanding answers she had already given.

“Do not pretend to have felt punished when you ran to your leman with the haste of a man who has been at sea for years,” she accused. His defection to another woman’s arms had rubbed salt in a wound since he had murmured sweet words in her ear the day prior about making love to her.

“You are so coldhearted that you would deny a man all comfort? Perhaps I should have sailed straight into battle afterward to take out my fury on an unsuspecting enemy?” His features were hard. Unforgiving. And bore no trace of the man she’d kissed.

Which was just as well. She would rather not face that man again anytime soon.

“The point is that you never gave up your lover when you were pretending to court me. And it was not my sister who broke the oath of the betrothal,” she insisted. “’Twas Donegal who simply took what he wanted without respect to the marriage contract. For my part, I would never wed a man who would take his family’s side so quickly he does not see the truth.”

“I might say the same of you. Why are you so sure your sister did not find Donegal’s bed willingly, only to regret it later? You have seen how persuasive a man’s touch can be.”

The sharp bite of his comment sank long teeth in an old wound. Anger erupted, giving her the strength to yank away.

“How flattering to know you only kiss with a purpose. But I will not defend myself or my sister to you again. You chose long ago to side with your brother who, I’ve since heard, has shown his true nature in your absence by bankrupting your lands and dividing your people. Yet you still believe he acted nobly in his treatment of my sister?” She stalked to the other side of the cook fire beneath the cauldron, needing a barrier between her and any man who could make her so angry.

She had lost so much, thanks to his need to humiliate her. Her family. And could he be so blind to Donegal’s character still? How could she trust him with her own people if he couldn’t discern clearly?

“He may have been a poor manager of people and lands. At the time, I could not see how that made him the beast your sister portrayed him as.” He stalked to the cupboard and retrieved a vessel, then plunged it into an open pot of fermenting mead. “Besides, I saw Edwina depart the hall with Donegal myself that night they consummated their relationship. They stole kisses in the courtyard as they left. And I assure you, Edwina did not give those kisses begrudgingly.”

“Stop.” Cristiana refused to think on that night anymore. She certainly did not want to consider the reckless, headstrong heart her sister had left with, only to return home with bruises and a soreness in her spirit that had never fully recovered. Her anger at Donegal had left Edwina unable to bond with his child, robbing her of the joy she should have felt in motherhood.

Edwina had begged Cristiana to raise her child. The choice had broken her sister’s heart, but at least the decision had been a selfless one. Edwina had recognized that her exile from home and her broken spirit would not help her nurture the child. She had wanted Leah to have every advantage—a secure home, safety from her brutish father and a mother whose heart had not been frozen by violence.

So in order to protect the babe from its father and to salvage Edwina’s reputation, Cristiana had vowed not to reveal Leah’s existence until she was a woman grown. Indeed, the secret was not even hers to tell.

“Stop what? Forcing you to see that an innocent maid may not have understood where teasing kisses lead?” He threw back the contents of the cup and then slammed the empty container on the worktable. “You tossed away your future with both hands because of an incident that was as much Edwina’s fault as anyone else’s.”

“Out.” She could not muster more words than this. Not until she took a few steadying breaths and braced herself against a tall column supporting the rafters. “You need to leave and never speak of it again if you wish to remain under my roof. Good day, sir.”

“But it’s not your roof, and never will be if you do not wed a strong man to rule Domhnaill for you. Perhaps I will put my own name forward as your father’s successor to secure my shelter for the winter.” He stalked from the brew house, turning briefly at the door. “I trust you’ve found a time for me to meet with him?”

“Tomorrow.” She had hoped it would not be so soon, but perhaps a cold reception would send Duncan and his men on their way all the faster. “After we sup.”

With a clipped nod, he pushed open the door, allowing a gust of bracing cold air to rush inside.

“And no need to worry about your place here, Cristiana. When I become laird here, I’m sure I’ll still require a mistress of the mead. Or perhaps you wish to become my leman?”

The barb found its mark when she did not think he could hurt her any more.

“A wise man avoids making enemies with a woman who knows her herbs,” she warned, cursing herself for ever opening her gate to him, let alone her arms. But he was already disappearing into the white swirl of a fresh snowfall outside her door.

Of all the cursed arrogance. How dare he threaten to depose her? Yet she’d committed the gravest mistake of the day. What had she been thinking to allow him to kiss and touch her, knowing he was a man of dangerously seductive skill? Of course, that had been much of the allure. The past had been hounding her ever since Duncan had arrived. Memories of their stolen moments together five years ago. The kiss that had taken place in this very spot.

Duncan thought she sacrificed much to remain unwed. In truth, after experiencing his kiss the first time, it had not been difficult to turn away other suit ors. It had only been a hardship to know she would never wed him.

But he’d become her enemy that day her sister had returned home. She’d sworn then that no Culcanon would ever lay hands on the Domhnaill legacy. And no heated encounters with her former betrothed would sway her to forsake that vow.

At sup that eve, Cristiana would have been content to make excuses not to join her guests, except that the holidays were upon them and she had invited many of her father’s allies to Domhnaill in the hope one of them would prove a strong successor for her father.

She certainly had no desire to see Duncan again so soon after their earlier encounter.

But she had plotted many moons for this festive season with her father’s oldest counselor, Keane, whom she waited for just outside the great hall. Unlike her sire, Keane had not lost his wits, his mind sharp as ever even if his sword arm lacked the strength to take over the keep himself.

The counselor appeared now, striding through the corridor with his irregular gait from an old battle wound. His white hair stood on end, shorn close to his head. He carried a knife at his hip even though it had been many years since he’d ridden off to war. He knew more about what had happened at Domhnaill five years ago than most, but he did not know about Edwina’s child. Except for a midwife and her servant who had witnessed the birth, everyone else privy to little Leah’s presence believed the girl an orphaned noble child left at Cristiana’s door. A resemblance among clans and villages was not unusual, with many a laird spreading bastard children among his lands.

“Good eve, sir.” She hastened to greet the advisor, drawing him aside and quickly explaining the meeting she’d arranged between Duncan and her father. “So if you could just remind the laird of his hatred of the Culcanons right before the meeting, I believe it will help our cause to send Duncan and his men packing.”

The gnarled old knight folded his arms and cupped his jaw. Then shook his head furiously.

“Nay. ’Tis the last thing we want.” He peered to ward the great hall to ensure their privacy, then leaned closer to speak. “I know you girls broke off your marriage contracts after a quarrel with the young men, but do you think it wise to savor your spite for so long when Duncan is the most celebrated knight in the kingdom? What Domhnaill needs is a man like Duncan as laird.”

For a moment, Cristiana wondered if Keane had succumbed to whatever wasting sickness her father had, for his words made no sense. But the shrewdness was still there in his lively blue eyes.

“Never.” She did not need to explain herself. Still, something like cold fear gelled in her veins. “It is a family matter of the utmost delicacy, sir, but I cannot allow that.”

More guests were arriving to sup as the vigorous chatter of some of the villagers mingled with the more refined cadence of the noble families’ conversations. The scent of roast fowl and fish permeated the stone halls and beckoned revelers from all round.

“I may be an old man, missy, but I assure you, I can take a guess at what kinds of delicate matters go on that would offend a lady. I never thought it was right to break a contract the first time, but your father always had a soft heart for you girls. Now, I’m not saying you should marry the man. I’m just saying he would be the best possible choice for a successor.”

When she started to argue, he backed up a step, that uneven gait of his biting her conscience as he hobbled backward.

“No sense getting up in arms,” he protested, tugging on his tunic and smoothing it. “Just think about what’s best for Domhnaill. Your da always did.”

“Keane—” But she would have had to chase him to keep talking. The counselor hastened toward the hall.

“Look around at our other options this eve,” he called over his shoulder as he kept on stumping along. “You’ll see I’m right.”

Frustration twisted her insides. They were nowhere near done with this conversation. True, she had not discovered a strong prospect to lead Domhnaill among her guests. That did not mean she would settle for arrogant Duncan, who’d maneuvered his way into staying here with the cunning of a serpent. Just be cause a man had the sword prowess of a champion did not mean he deserved any part of her homeland.

“Do you appear this angry at every feast in your hall, Lady Cristiana?”

The unwelcome question came from just above her left shoulder, where Duncan suddenly stood. He had appeared from nowhere as she wove through the crowd toward her seat on the dais.

The man moved with the stealth of a hunter.

“Only when I must host arrogant, demanding men over the holidays,” she assured him, wishing his presence did not make her warm all over. She hoped her cheeks did not flush noticeably.

She would have hastened her step if there were not so many people nearby to see her indulge her temper. Hurrying away from her guests would hardly be considered good manners.

Instead, she forced a smile to her lips as Duncan looped her arm through his and escorted her to the dais table. She took the center seat when her father did not dine in the hall, which was most days now. Normally, she sat at her father’s left and Keane to his right, but during the holidays, the dais table was full of high ranking guests. All of those seated had traveled with their wives for the promised festivities of the season, making the number of guests even and leaving the seat beside Cristiana vacant once again. Keane would have normally accepted an invitation to dine with her as her father’s advisor, but he already sat with the knights. She had no choice but to pass another meal with Duncan.

“You think I demand too much?” He bent forward to grasp a handful of her skirts and lifted them slightly for her to slip one foot over the bench to take her seat. “You are free to make your own demands of me. In fact, I would welcome it.”

The unexpected slide of her skirts up her ankle—by his hand, no less—caught her utterly off guard. Whatever strange battle he waged against her, she was clearly the less experienced tactician.

Settling into her seat as quickly as possible, she tugged back her gown in a small skirmish for the velvet under the table. In the end, he relinquished the cloth, but not before his knuckle grazed her thigh in a contact she felt all too well through the layers of linen and velvet.

“Is that so? Then prepare yourself, sir.”

Before she could change her mind, Cristiana stood. She was the mistress of the hall in her father’s absence. She could address the folk of Domhnaill if it served her. The noisy chamber quieted instantly as heads turned her way.

“My good people,” she began, speaking to the high-ranking villagers mixed in the crowd as much as the lofty landowners from neighboring holdings. “I welcome Duncan of Culcanon again this night and have had more time to consider his request.”

Beside her, he stiffened. Good.

“You have generously offered me a portion of the some mysterious treasure at the end of your time with us.” There were a few gasps of surprise and a few cynical laughs. “But in the spirit of the holiday, good sir, we ask that you share some hint of what you seek before then? Your hunt can be our entertainment.”

She sought answers and hoped this would be a way to obtain them. At very least, she had made her court aware of his intentions. No doubt he would not be able to search in secret if everyone in attendance knew what he was about. Perhaps his work would be so hampered by interested attendees that he would leave, frustrated and empty-handed.

For a moment—judging by the dark expression in his gaze—she thought she had succeeded in outfoxing him. But as he rose to his feet, his visage cleared and the carefree courtier appeared again.

Ready to take up her challenge.

“Good mistress, I would not deny you.” Though he spoke to the assembled company, he stood close to her. Very close. As if they were lord and lady of this hall.

With an effort, she smiled up at him and wished she could tug herself away from him as strenuously as she had yanked her skirts from his fingers.

“Then how does your treasure hunting proceed? Tell us what you seek.”

She had put him under the whole court’s scrutiny. All eyes turned to him. Yet his gaze remained steadfastly upon her.

“For now, I can only tell these good people what I’ve found. Nay,” he said, breaking his gaze at her to grin at the assembled folk. “Each day, I will show them instead.”

Murmured interest rolled through the crowd as Duncan turned to her once more.

“Today, my friends, this is what I found.”

Like a bird of prey, he swooped toward her so quickly she could do naught but panic. Wrapping her in his arms in front of the entire company, Duncan of Culcanon drew her to him and kissed her full upon the mouth.

Chapter Four

It was a small victory and it wouldn’t last. But Duncan would never forget the sweetness in that moment he kissed Cristiana.

She’d been so surprised, her lips had parted in exclamation just before his mouth claimed hers. What man would not take advantage of such irresistible temptation? After what had transpired between them in the brew house earlier, he’d counted on the way her body stilled at his touch. He’d known she would not withdraw. Whatever awareness had sparked between them years ago became a potent force now.

When cheers and laughs erupted in the hall, he recognized it was time to retreat. With regret, he relinquished his hold on her.

Suspecting she would be angry all too soon, he savored a fleeting moment when her expression remained starry-eyed. For a moment, he could almost forget he attended her on a mission of deceit. That he’d come to wrest away her keep. Stuffing down those thoughts, he picked up his drinking horn to toast the company and deflect attention away from Cristiana.

“I am sure no other treasure I find will be half so rewarding.” He raised his cup to a hearty round of cheers from his knights. “To the health of your laird and his lovely daughter.”

Cristiana’s face remained bright pink, but she drank to her father’s health and motioned for the servers to start the meal. Upon taking his seat, Duncan noticed her hands shook slightly as she reached for the eating knife on the chain at her waist.

Not for a moment did he believe she trembled out of passion for him. Nay, he felt the anger emanating from her as surely as heat from the sun.

“You left me no choice.” He dipped his head to explain, needing to remain in her good graces for at least a little longer. He had tested her patience in the brew house earlier, but just now he may have worn out what scant welcome he’d had completely. Though he’d arrived at Domhnaill with a large retinue of men, they were unarmed and therefore easier to uproot from a stronghold where they were not wanted.

And it was imperative he remain under her roof. He did not have the forces to take the keep from without.

All around them, diners exclaimed over yet another lavish feast for the holidays. The mighty Yule log still burned brightly in the hearth, echoing the flickering of torches ringing the great chamber. The scent of fragrant pine and honeyed mead mingled with the gingered spices of rich sauces and savory tang of roasted meats.

“You could have simply shared your task with the assembled guests when I asked. Or made up some fanciful lie to distract us from the truth.” She did not look at him as she refilled his mead from a flagon left on the dais table. A fat silver ring set with rubies clanked against the hammered metal pitcher.

“I could not risk having the whole keep learn how deadly serious I am about my quest, lest every villager and guest alike would be tearing apart your lands and the structures upon it to join in the hunt.”

“You cannot be serious.” Frowning, she did not wait for him to serve her a morsel of spicy roasted duck, but speared a bit on the tip of her knife. She tested the heat of the dish by putting the bite close to her lip before nipping it off with her teeth.

“You have not guessed the object of my quest?”

Oddly, she seemed to pale at his words. What did she fear he sought? He tucked away that question to mull over another time. For now, he would share his full purpose with her, if only to draw her into the scheme and keep her quiet while he went about the task.

“I cannot possibly imagine—”

He withdrew her eating knife from her hand and set it aside, determined to serve her if only to maintain an appearance of goodwill between them.

“It is not a conversation for the hall, where anyone might overhear,” he confided, choosing a steaming bit of smoked fish for her.

“There is nothing on my family lands for which you could have any rightful claim.” She did not seem to see the bite of fish he waved in front of her.

There could be no doubt about it now. Her skin had lost all color.

Did she have some knowledge of the prize he sought?

“I have as much right to such a treasure as you.” He kept his voice low as he replaced the food on their trencher. “It belongs with the Culcanons as much as any Domhnaill.”

“It?”

He could not name the emotion behind that one incredulous word.

Cursing below his breath, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered the purpose of his quest.

“The old Viking treasure. I’ve discovered a reliable clue to its whereabouts.”

He expected her to be pleased. The rumored wealth of a long ago mutual ancestor had been buried be fore a Viking invasion to protect it. But he had not anticipated the obvious relief that sent a rush of color back into her cheeks and a burst of laughter from her lips.

“You’re searching for a box of trinkets no one has discovered for some two hundred years?” The news seemed to encourage her appetite for she reached to retrieve her knife.

He clamped the jeweled handle to the table and fed her his fish offering instead. She took it without hesitation, her spirits seemingly restored as much as her appetite. By the rood, what had worried her before? What treasure had she feared he would discover at Domhnaill?

“Aye.” One day he would confide how he came by the medallion with the map he wore about his neck. How his people would not make it through another winter without the spoils from such riches.

But if he could not locate the wealth of the crafty old ancestor who’d fathered both the Culcanon and Domhnaill clans long ago, claiming Cristiana’s lands became all the more crucial. She might laugh at the idea of the Viking treasure, but his finding it was her only possible hope of keeping her lands. And even then? He could not imagine walking away from the strength and resources of Domhnaill. If he did not take it now, what warmongering knight might steal it out from under her? Duncan could not afford an enemy lord so close to home.