A Gift of Myrrh Page 2

  Gaven’s words freed her from her yearnings in an instant. Revulsion churned her stomach. “Your brother?” she asked aghast, though the answer should have been plain to see. “Tomas was your brother?”

  “It would look that way.”

  “Aye, ’twould.” And if she had not been so enamored with the idea of impaling herself on the devil’s lap, she would have realized it long before. Sweet Lord, what had come over her? “Why is it Tomas never mentioned having a twin?”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and his grin turned nefarious. “Perhaps, he feared I’d swoop down and steal his lovely bride.”

  “Mr. Gaven. That is hardly appropriate talk.” Not to mention the absolute last thing Tomas would have worried over.And possibly the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

  She gave her head a firm shake. Where on earth was her mind today? Judging by the dampness still heavy between her thighs, far south of her head.

  “What about Tavish?” he asked.

  She narrowed her gaze at the mention of her husband’s highly scandalous younger brother. She had heard little of him from Tomas—mainly that he was a heartless rake, but it was more than enough to know she disliked the man. “What of him?”

  “Tomas mentioned him then?”

  “Aye, he said he was a scoundrel. An English one at that.”

  Gaven’s dark eyebrows drew together as if he was appalled by the idea. The amusement that tinged his words indicated just the opposite. “An Englishman that goes by a Scottish name? How disgraceful.”

  “’Tis a truth, your brother has no care for scandal. He’s been known to rob maidens of their virtue by drugging them mindless with his kisses.”

  His lips twitched. “You don’t say.”

  “I do.” And as she stood here, watching him fight a smile, she realized Gaven was most likely known to do the same. She had to have been mindless for the way she responded to him, the lust still aflame in her lower belly.

  His lips fell flat and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And do tell me, Lady Kristiana, is that not how you came by your title? By allowing my brother to seduce you with a handful of pleasurable kisses, then dally between your milky, white thighs?”

  The breath caught in Kristiana’s throat so fiercely she nearly choked on it. “Mr. Gaven! Why of all the wicked, licentious, libert—”

  His laughter, deep and derisive, carried on the breeze like a dagger straight to her heart. All trace of his burr was gone when he spoke next. “Laird Gaven, my lady. Or Tavish MacBain if you so prefer. And I would say it is you who is licentious for allowing my good brother to defile you. Then there are the liberties you allowed me to take in an open courtyard. Quite shocking. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  As she stood there, gaping into his mocking black eyes, realization settled in like the fog that so often shrouded the castle walls. She knew in that moment the answers to all her unasked questions. Why the villagers of Landon had been spared, why the women had not been raped nor the children beaten, why their cottages still stood, and the coffers weren’t bled dry.

  They’d been spared by the King’s army to face their demise at the hands of a lone man. A devil who shared his brother’s strong, noble features, but knew nothing of Tomas’ fighting spirit, his love for the MacBain clan.

  Tavish might claim a Scottish name, but beyond that, he was a tried and true Englishman. One who wielded the power to remove each and every villager from the land they loved with a mere snap of his fingers. One who could turn a maiden’s traitorous body into a pit of raw, aching need with little more than a kiss.

  Chapter Two

  “I won’t be evicted!”

  Tavish scowled down at the red-haired beauty whose eyes flickered as icily blue as the sea that surrounded the better part of the castle. The woman’s declaration disturbed him nearly as much as her comeliness. Her strikingly elegant features coupled with the high, firm breasts and the round, supple ass he’d palmed moments before, ensured no man could consider Lady Kristiana detestable in countenance.

  Willful, yes. But detestable? Not with that tongue.

  He’d been shocked to silence at his first sight of her, standing on the castle steps doing work suited to a servant. Then she’d seen him as well and her face lit, unguarded hope entering her eyes, and he’d felt another emotion altogether. One he thought himself well beyond. Eager for a reason he couldn’t quite place, he’d slid from his mount and opened his arms to her, and she’d run into them and offered her mouth.

  Though it had only been another second before he’d realized her mistake—that she thought her dead husband had somehow been returned to her—he hadn’t been able to break away. Not when her lips ripened to him and her honey sweet tongue flicked so blatantly against his, bringing his blood to a boil and his cock to abrupt attention.

  His penis stirred anew at the memory of her willing, young body snaked against his, and Tavish grunted his displeasure. He might not have been able to feel the direct heat of her pussy against his skin, but he’d smelled the sweet tang of her sex in the air, saw the lust cloud her eyes. She’d wanted him to fuck her, right there in the courtyard for all to see. And damn his hide, he’d wanted the same thing.

  Bloody hell! Why couldn’t she be the ugly shrew he’d been led to believe?

  The lustful appetite spilling through his veins and tightening his balls was his own fault, he supposed. A wiser man would have taken care of his needs before leaving England. It had been over three sennights since he’d last fallen into the warmth of a woman’s parted thighs. Contrary to what Kristiana believed, that woman hadn’t been innocent or asleep, but a long-time acquaintance with whom he’d shared many trysts.

  Not a whore, but not exactly a lady either.

  Much like his companion, judging by the fact she too had clearly realized her mistake long before their kiss ended. Certainly before she rummaged those long, slender fingers through his hair and ground her sex against him in open invitation.

  While Tavish could not understand the rumors that had been spread regarding her appearance, he could well see how Tomas had been lured into her bed. She was a strumpet of the highest order. One whose eagerness to share her body reminded him too much of another supposed lady, one whom he had believed himself to be in love with several years before. That woman’s affection had been more false than any other he’d received in his life, and had died the moment she found a wealthier paramour.

  He took a step backward, toward his horse. Contempt burned hot in Kristiana’s potent gaze and still he did not trust her to keep her distance. Not when he knew how easily she could pull him into her hedonistic web.

  “Is that what you think? I’ve come to evict you?” he questioned harshly, wondering now if her advances were a promise of future thrills if he allowed her to stay on.Bartering her body for a place to sleep, he thought sardonically,how like a woman. “I merely wish to have back what is mine. Whether you stay or go is of no consequence to me.”

  “But if I leave, sir, wherever will you find an innocent to forage up? ‘Tis a sad truth, there are only a handful of maidens left in the village and not a single one in the castle.”

  His shock over her defiant words was only outweighed by her self-decree. He couldn’t hold back his snort of derision. “I would hardly consider you an innocent. Even if my brother tired of you after a single rut, that doesn’t give you back your virtue.” Since a stable boy had yet to appear, Tavish turned and grabbed his mount’s reins. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a mind to take care of my horse and get changed and washed before the evening meal.”

  He’d taken a few steps when her lilting voice called after him. “And just who do you think will feed you, my laird?”

  “My cook, I presume.”

  At Kristiana’s huff, he turned back. She stood with her hand to her brow, her gaze locked in the direction whence he had come. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for your cook.”

  He almost la
ughed, but refused to give in lest she think her wry humor affected him. “My cook isyour cook,” he said sternly.

  She looked to him, her eyes as cool and clear as liquid sapphires. “’Tis hungry you shall be then. My cook is absent. I sent her and the caretaker to Inverness for supplies.”

  “Surely you have more than one.”

  She gave her head a firm shake, and the strands of burnished red that had come free from her braid when they’d embraced, lifted on the wind to frame her face. The effect softened her features, making her appear far more delicate than what he’d first believed. Not just her eyes, nor her cheekbones, but her ruby-red lips. Delicate and soft and luscious. And, of course, that’s exactly what they were.

  “Nay, ‘tis just myself, Fiona and her husband. The rest of the staff left months ago.”

  Tavish swept his gaze from her mouth in an attempt to forget how sinfully sweet she tasted. Not that his whole mind dwelt there. That portion of his brain propelled by his still swollen cock was on another part of her altogether. That part he held no doubt the hoyden would happily yield to him—be he stranger or the ghost of her husband—the dewy soft crux of her thighs that housed her heated cunt.

  “And what about the girl,” he bit out, his voice edged with an unbidden rasp. “The one who was with you when I arrived?”

  If Kristiana noted the change in his tone, she gave no indication. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced to her right, to the glen that harbored Landon. He nearly groaned his thanks aloud when she released her lip. “Aye, she works here, but lives in the village.”

  He gave a curt nod and turned back to his mount, needing to be free of the vixen and the charm she worked on him with so little effort. He called over his shoulder as he started for the stable, “Then there will be plenty of room when my staff arrives.”

  “Your staff?”

  The chill in her words caused him to look back. Her eyes wide and her brow marred with faint lines, she appeared distressed. He’d never expected her to reveal such an emotion to him. In truth, he never expected her to reveal any honest emotion at all. Perhaps she thought he planned to evict her cook and caretaker, as she’d first feared for herself. “Ours, if you prefer,” he said lightly. “There will be a cook amongst them, to see we don’t starve when your Fiona is absent.”

  Her concern ebbed in a flash, to be replaced with unmistakable ire. She thrust her slender hand to her hip. “I’ll have you know, sir, I’ve not led your pampered life. I can cook well, and have even seen to the serving those times when Castle Wynderon was weighted to the gills with hungry guests.”

  Though Tavish had no mind to turn her into a servant, it appeared that’s exactly what she wished for. Far better it be one who saw to his hunger than his libido. “Then you’ll have no problem having a meal on the table after I’ve finished washing.”

  The fire in her eyes burned ever higher, and the hand on her hip fisted, making him wonder if he’d been mistaken in her wants. Unsure what to say to please her, and even more unsure why he thought to do so in the first place, he nodded toward the greenery that donned the castle wall and said the first thing that came to him. “The decorations are lovely. As you know, we Englishman love our holidays.”

  * * * * *

  Every word Tomas had spoken about his brother was true. The man had no regard for right or wrong, he simply doled out orders and expected them to be followed. It was a shame Kristiana’s manners dictated she feed the man, as she would’ve loved to march past him and up to her chambers for the remainder of the day, if not the rest of the year.

  Instead, she stood in the kitchen pounding dough for biscuits, taking her pleasure in imagining it was the laird’s too handsome face. He thought her a slut, a harlot no less! She—one of the few remaining virgins on MacBain land—the maiden who, until today, had never even known passion outside of whispered stories and those few trysts she’d chanced upon by accident. Who wished she’d still never experienced it, for passion at the hands of the devil wasn’t worth all the gold in the world.

  Neither was his appreciation for her holiday adornment. She’d been sorely tempted to rip the gay juniper and mistletoe down. The idea he’d know she’d done it because his gratitude bothered her stopped her from doing just that.

  Besides, there was more to consider than her feelings. There was an entire parish in desperate need of cheer. Tomorrow, they’d need that merriment all the more. When the villagers of Landon learned whom they were now forced to call master, those few who’d held out hope for salvation would surely fall to the wayside.

  To think she’d believed her patience would pay off, that a savior would swoop down and turn their lives around. The man who’d come instead couldn’t be any farther from a savior if he’d tried. He was a devil, a libertine.

  A scoundrel who made her breasts tingle and nipples bead just thinking about him.

  Damnation! She would not feel this way, this raw aching hunger to finish what they’d begun in the courtyard. She had lived three and twenty years without feeling a man’s caress, she could go awhile longer. Or forever, if God so bid it.

  Kristiana returned to her pounding, determined to stay within the walls of the place she’d called home for the last year and a half, and equally intent to veer far away from the man who would now live here with her.

  * * * * *

  Tavish woke to a scream. It took only a moment to realize it was his own. The bed’s rich blue coverlet was tossed to the floor and the bedclothes that should have covered him twined dangerously around his naked limbs and neck.

  Grimacing, he untangled himself.

  He’d like to blame the hellish nightmare on Kristiana’s cooking—it was easy to believe the chit had laced the biscuits and stew she’d fed him for dinner with poison. But he knew better. This dream had been haunting him for over eight months and it wouldn’t stop any time soon. Perhaps not ever.

  Swinging to the edge of the large four-poster, he reached for the spread and wrapped it around his shoulders. He wouldn’t fall back asleep tonight. He’d made that mistake once before, only to return to a hell far worse than the one he’d awoken from.

  Lighting the candelabra he’d doused a few short hours earlier, he slipped through the bedchamber’s door. He had no worry of meeting someone in the dank hallways. The cook and caretaker had not returned, and if Kristiana were like the ladies he’d known in England, she slept like the dead and well into the morning.

  Tavish hadn’t traversed the castle halls at night since before he was sent to England as a boy of seven, and still he remembered their seemingly endless maze of corridors and hidden passageways. Within minutes, he’d reached his once favorite part of the castle, the open parapet that overlooked the cliffs. Moonlight peeked through a cloud-filled night to shine upon the waves as they crashed against the rugged coastline.

  From his vantage at the battlement’s stone edge, he embraced the restless beauty of the surf, the burning the frigid air brought to his lungs, the briny tang of the sea.

  Here he felt alive. Free in a way he hadn’t experienced in too long.

  In England, the home of his mother—a lady by name if not actions—he might have been given a title, might even have come to be respected in society, but as a whole that didn’t mean a damned thing. He’d had to swear allegiance to a king he didn’t trust and, far worse, fight a country he loved, not once but numerous times.

  It was only this latest battle that scarred him, propelled him into asking the Crown for the land he should have come by naturally upon his brother’s death. This last battle that haunted his nights as surely as it did his—

  “If you plan to jump, I suggest you do so before the tide completely washes in. ‘Twould be a pity if after making such a foolish leap, you only injured yourself.”

  Tavish swiveled at the lilting, feminine burr. Clothed in a scanty linen nightdress, her long hair streaming around her slender shoulders, Kristiana looked nearly an apparition. A ghostly beauty sent down fr
om above to torment him with her alluring form and even more tempting mouth. “You’re awake, my lady.”

  Her gaze traveled the length of him, quickly snapping back to his face. Though it seemed implausible on someone so brazen, he swore a blush colored her fair skin. “Aye, and I’m dressed, which is more than I can say for you.”

  The scorn in her words brought a grin to his face. The urge to taunt her as she took such pleasure in doing to him was too great to let pass. He took a step toward her. “I was waiting for a maiden to debauch with my kisses, but it appears I’ve been stood up.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why do I find that so easy to believe?”

  He took a second step, aware he was enticing a woman he knew better than to bait. Yet, whether it be lack of sleep softening his brain or utter lunacy, he could not turn away. “Perhaps I’ll have to take advantage of the lady in my presence.”