Dare to Love a Scot Read online

  This was her. She looked no more than a girl of fifteen. Her face held an expression of innocent mischief, as if the artist had caught her just before she was about to lift a brow and say something amusing.

  A hand clasped his shoulder but Lachy didn’t look away from the picture.

  “You may have it, of course. I understand all too well what it means to have so little to remember one’s mother with.”

  “I’d have nowhere to hang it,” Lachy uttered, his throat choosing that moment to squeeze closed on his voice.

  The portrait was large, almost as tall as a grown man. Where would I put it, in me cottage? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but his lungs had stopped working.

  She belonged here, dammit, overseeing the sitting room that should have been hers, walking the gallery of portraits of Dennehy lairds. Instead, she’d died in a sweat-soaked cot in a tumbledown cottage in the village that his father had later burned to the ground.

  Turning to face Ablehill, Lachy’s movements felt cold and stiff. “I had no idea this existed. I thank you for showing me.”

  “I thought you deserved that much. What of the investigation?”

  Lachy held his gaze. “I think my clan deserves to know how their centuries of legacy ended up in the hands of an Englishman.”

  The silence that followed his statement could have been cut with a knife. “Thank you for dinner, Your Grace, and for showing me what this castle should mean to me. I will see myself out.”

  Ablehill and Selbourne bid him goodnight, and Lachy showed himself out through the back of the castle, crossing the dark stable yard with his fists clenched. Halfway through, he could hear the door open and close again, and the crunch of steps following him. Passing the gate, he turned sharply and pressed to the wall until his unknown follower passed through.

  Then he caught them by the arm and swung them back to the wall. But it only took one touch to know who he’d captured.

  Chapter 11

  She screamed, but it came out more as a squeak.

  Then a mouth clamped over hers, and all it took was the smell and taste of him to subdue her fears. She tangled her arms around his neck, and Lachy backed her up against the wall, holding her against the cool stone with his body.

  He broke the kiss, and Prim sucked in a breath of air. “You frightened me!”

  “You? ’Tis I who was being followed by a cloaked figure. I feared for me virtue.”

  Prim giggled. “I would have been gentle.”

  “Would you?” he said, as he nuzzled her neck.

  Her head fell back to allow him more access. His night beard scraped her tender skin, and his hot tongue swept out to lick the sensitive hollow below her ear.

  Her body melted, and she pressed her thighs together to appease the tingling pressure there. She wanted to be rid of the clothing between them and feel his hard body pressed against hers. She shuddered at the thought, the demanding desire nearly overwhelming.

  “Take me to your cottage, Lachy,” she begged.

  He stilled, lifting his head. “That isn’t a good idea.”

  “It is,” she moaned, pressing her hips to his.

  She felt like she would die if she couldn’t touch him.

  He widened his stance, his hard arousal prodding her through her layers of cloak and dress. “Do you know what I would love to do to you?”

  Prim shuddered, the nerve endings between her thighs bordering on painful. She needed to be touched, or she’d go mad. She nipped at his chin. “Tell me.”

  He brought one hand to her front, skimming down her stomach, parting the folds of her cloak, and taking hold of the front of her skirt. He gathered in it one hand, until he could slip his hand underneath. Prim pressed closer to him, parting her thighs. He touched her gently at first, and she shivered. She needed more than that. She moved against his hand, gasping as his fingers firmed, brushing over her sensitive hood and deep into her folds.

  Her knees turned to water, and she almost fell, except he caught her, adjusting her until her back was against the wall, and he held one knee to his hip and stroked her with his other hand. Then he pressed his forehead to hers as he continued to stroke her, their panted breaths mixing between them.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  He slowed his strokes, reaching deeper into her, playing the entrance of her body.

  “You’re so hot and wet. I’d sink inside you, like this, slowly,” he said, inserting one finger.

  Prim gasped, grinding against the palm of his hand and squeezing her eyes closed. “Yes,” she sighed.

  “Again,” he said, repeating his motion, sliding out and then in, rubbing his palm against her mons.

  She started to shake, the pressure of his hand and the slide of his finger sending bolts of pleasure through her body. Something was building inside her, like a wave growing larger as it headed for shore, until it spilled over, crashing on the beach.

  He repeated his movements, adding a second finger, stretching her. “This is how I’d fill you, over and over, until you shattered in me arms and screamed me name.”

  Through the haze of her desire, Prim heard him and her whole body tightened, and just like a wave, she crashed against him, her body arching, her head falling back against the stone, her hands clawing at his shoulders as she cried out his name.

  He tucked her head against his shoulder, rubbing her back where it had thudded against the wall. Her legs weak and shaky, and she gladly held on to him and watched as he licked his fingers, the very fingers that had been inside her.

  He groaned. “My God, Prim. You taste like sin and sugar.”

  She couldn’t fathom a thought. He’d tasted her, and she was both scandalized and aroused by the sight.

  “You’re coming home with me. I need more than just a taste.”

  Prim had no objections. His voice had a gruff edge to it that rekindled her flagging passion all over again. She nodded, and they took off into the dark, cutting across the moonlit lawn together.

  She barely had her bearings when they reached his cottage. He opened the door , studying her face as she stepped through. If he expected her to balk now, he’d be astonished by her thoughts. She was ready for anything he had to give her, even though her knowledge of intimate matters was extremely limited. In fact, until three days ago, it had been nil.

  But she didn’t care. Fear, doubt, the unknown future had been left on the floor of her room. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to get it. She would not settle this time. She would claim what she wanted, and there was nothing prim or proper about it. If being jilted had taught her anything, it was that it was dangerous to wait. Life moved too quickly, and time slipped away with every breath.

  Surrendering to her desire for him had been the easiest part, but now she would fight to keep him. There was something here so profound that it had frightened her the first time she’d seen him. But now there was no fear, even though he appeared tense and distant. He’d still brought her here. Perhaps he was the one who was afraid. There was no way this night would pass without changing the both of them forever.

  Passion had a hefty price, indeed.

  Prim curiously glanced around the small cottage. It was clean and sparse, compared to the other tenant cottages she’d visited that contained lively families. Lachy had filled the whole space with his energy, making the room small and cozy, even without the help of the fire.

  He squatted before the hearth now, feeding the dying embers until the fire sprang back to life. She inspected the room, but there was nothing in particular to look at—no paintings, no knickknacks, just the bare essentials. He was not at home here, she could tell, and she wondered if it was his soldier training: to need nothing more than a place to sleep, a place to sit, a fire to warm his food, utensils to cook with, and nothing to reveal who he was or if he intended to stay here.

  It hurt her heart to see him live such a plain existence, as if he was nothing more than a machine. To her, he was so much more than
he let himself be. There was still so much more of him to discover, things he would not yet tell her, but with time, Prim was certain he would. This night would be their beginning.

  This was more than a dalliance now; this was the next chapter of their lives, the start to their shared story. Her pulse beat wildly as she stood waiting for him to turn. Her limbs itched to move. Her desire had been banked since they had entered the cottage, but it was ready to explode again if only he would finish tending the fire.

  She took off her cloak and laid it over the back of the single chair next to the small table, rubbing her arms and shifting her feet. Lachy finally stood, the fire now popping and hissing. His back remained to her, however, and she could tell by the set of his shoulders that something bothered him.

  “What does your home mean to you?” he asked.

  Stunned, Prim licked her lips and tried to infer where this conversation was going. “Well, I’m not sure what you mean. Home can have different meanings.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  She hesitated before moving closer to him, wanting to touch him and place her hand on his shoulder, but his stance did not invite her to do so.

  “I’m not sure. Home can be a physical building, or the people you choose to reside with, whether or not they are blood relatives.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She cleared her throat. “I suppose, for me, home has been wherever my sisters and mother were. Before Heather married Erick, we didn’t have a physical home anymore. My cousin had thrown us out. But I was still safe. I still felt the familiar comforts because of my mother and sisters, even when we sold the things that were most memorable to me.”

  She looked around his cottage, again disliking the nothingness of the décor. The floor creaked then, and Prim’s gaze snapped back to him. He’d turned now, and was scrutinizing her.

  Had he seen my judgment of his cottage? She hadn’t been guarding her expression.

  “Your mother sold things?” he asked, coming toward her and pulling out the lone chair for her to sit.

  She nodded. “My father gambled quite excessively. Both my parents tried to hide it, but I heard them arguing often, and it was impossible not to notice when things disappeared,” she said, holding his gaze.

  She’d never told anyone this, but she was going to tell him, because tonight was about giving him all of herself, no matter what tomorrow would bring.

  “Before going out, he would entrust me with his fob watch. ‘Don’t let me have it, little Prim, no matter what I promise you.”’ She swallowed, her father’s voice still filling her head. “Those were the last words he ever said to me.”

  “He gave you his watch so he couldn’t lose it?”

  Prim wiped her eyes and nodded.

  “How old were you?”

  “I don’t know when it first started. He’d been entrusting it to me for as long as I could remember. I guarded that watch as though I was guarding his life. And then, after he died, after we’d sold most of what we could, I still kept it. I held on to it as long as I could, until the time came where I had to turn it over to my mother, and it, too, was sold. We had a fortnight of fresh milk because of that watch.”

  He strode to her and kneeled, taking her hand. His large calloused hands enveloped hers, blanketing her cold fingers in warmth. “I would have never known from the look of you that you’d struggled. Enduring struggle is a strength. You are stronger because of it. But I’m also sorry you went through such a time, Prim. You were too young to take on such a burden, but you bore it anyway.”

  She sniffed, fighting a rush of tears. This was not going at all how she’d imagined. “You see? We are not so different, after all. We’ve both had troubles. We’re both strong.” She placed her hand on his. “Imagine how much stronger we would be together.”

  He stood then, and their hands fell apart. Prim also rose, determined not to let him push her away.

  “You asked me what home means to me. It means the people we love. A home can be made anywhere, but not with anyone. What does it mean to you, Lachy? Where is your home? I can see it isn’t here, in this cottage, where you’ve made no effort to make it yours.”

  He turned his face away, looking about the cottage. “I don’t own this cottage. How could I ever make it mine?”

  “With things that you are fond of. A blanket, a pillow, a candle, a painting that reminds you of a place you’ve been. Surely, as a soldier, you collected things from your travels?”

  “Aye, a leg that pains me every day, and nightmares that torture me at night.”

  Prim gasped. “What?”

  He moved away from her, crossing the room and folding his arms. “I was jesting.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  She crossed the space between them and yanked his arms apart. When she stepped into the space, his arms came around her.

  “I have nightmares, too, and I know it helps to talk about them.”

  “You’re determined to break me down, are you?”

  “I’m prepared to give whatever I have to in order to prove that I belong here with you.”

  His features hardened. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Don’t condescend to me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his back, just in case he tried to push her away. He scowled down at her.

  “What does home mean to you, Lachy?” she asked again, not willing to back down.

  “Nothing good.”

  “So tell me anyway.”

  His lips pressed into a firm line before easing. “Broken glass.”

  A moment passed, and he said nothing else.

  “There has to be more than that.”

  He sighed heavily, and Prim imagined that it must be what a bear sigh sounded like.

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “Yes. And you’ll have to explain, in depth, exactly what broken glass means.”

  “It means yelling. It means bottles thrown at walls.”

  “You’ll have to be more detailed than that,” she pressed.

  He exhaled, trying to wriggle out of her hold. “I don’t know what you want form me, Prim.”

  “I want to know you, Lachy. Is that so difficult to understand? I came here tonight to know you.”

  “Why?”

  Because I’m in love with you.

  “Because I want to.”

  She’d never been more afraid that the wrong words could have come out. But she knew the word love was too much for him right now.

  “There isn’t much to know. I’m nobody important.”

  “You are to me.”

  “I’m a broken soldier, and now a dairyman. What else is there to know?”

  “I’d love to find out. Why did you join the war effort? What made you want to build a dairy? Do you even like cows? See? There is so much to tell me, but that isn’t why you brought me here, and that’s fine, too.” She stepped closer to him. His back was against the wall. “I’m still here, Lachy. Talk to me, hold me, take me to bed. I will give you anything you want.”

  His gaze bore into hers, holding her captive. Inside his dark eyes, a battle waged. He wanted to fight, she could see, but there was also a more pressing desire and need in him: the urge to surrender.

  She pressed her palm to his chest, over the drum of his heart. “I want you, exactly as you are.”

  His hand caught hers, holding it to his chest, squeezing her fist. “You’ll regret this,” he said, his voice pained.

  “Never,” Prim declared.

  She’d never felt so sure.

  He pushed away from the wall, backing them up to the bed. She sat when the backs of her knees hit the bed, never taking her eyes from his. He sat beside her, still holding her hand to his chest, and bringing his other to tuck her hair behind her ear.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if I make love to you?”

  Prim wanted to leap up and kiss the he
avens. The word love, said so softly with his burr, was the most beautiful sound in the world.

  “Yes, I want you to make love to me,” she said, emboldened by his words. “Please.”

  “Oh, Prim,” he said, leaning forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Such words can break a man.”

  She took their fisted hands and kissed his knuckles. “I’ll hold you together. Let me show you what home can be.”

  She pushed him until he lay on his back, and then she stood. He never took his eyes from her as she loosened the neck of her gown and pulled it loose until it slipped down her body like a sheath. She heard his swift intake of breath and smiled. Her insides vibrated with excitement, and her pulse was bounding through her limbs. She tried to control her rapid breathing as she knelt on the bed beside him, at a loss about what to do next. She swallowed, her throat dry as she reached for the buttons of his coat.

  He sat up and removed his jacket, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. Prim lightly touched his chest, testing the silky hot firmness of his skin, and the layer of muscle underneath. She’d never seen a man like this. The closest she’d come were statues in cold marble. But they didn’t do him justice. He was so much more beautiful, but not like a statue. His beauty was rugged and real, like a tree split by lightning, or how the waves crashed against the rocks, shaping the cliffs into something that could never be created the same way again.

  There was no man on earth like Lachy. Wild, and yet more noble than she ever could have imagined.

  She pressed her palm over his heart, feeling the rapid beat of it, knowing that like her, his body was in chaos, in a state of wanting and needing. Her heart swelled, and she folded her arms around his neck, pressing her bare breasts to his chest.

  A shock went through her, startling and bright. Like a shooting star.

  Lachy dragged her over his lap, and Prim straddled him, his hard shaft riding against her core. He took her lips, and she opened for him, sliding her tongue against his, absorbing the feel of him with all her senses. He smelled like night mist and wood smoke, a scent she would love forever.

  His kisses moved down her throat then, and Prim arched into him, dropping her head back. He stopped at the crease of her neck and shoulder, using his lips and tongue to brand her there. Then he moved lover, scattering licks of fire over her collar bone and the tops of her breasts. He hunched, taking her breast into his mouth and sucking gently.