She stepped inside her own bedchamber and closed the door behind her, then leaned back against the old, polished wood. She knew MacKittrick was slowly failing, but she only felt it when her uncle and others were present to point out the old castle’s flaws and cracks. For God’s sake, at least she kept it running—and from losing money. That would have brought the London solicitors north to pound at the front door faster than anything else.
Making a profit would be easier if she didn’t have so many employees to pay, but this was the only opportunity most of them would ever have to earn an honest income. Without that, the property would likely be missing far more than three hundred sheep and a few cattle. And it wasn’t only about keeping thievery to a minimum; these people were her kin and her clan, and she would keep them safe and fed and with a roof over their heads even if the lairds were too occupied with arguing over who had the responsibility and the ownership of the place to do anything else.
The small fire in her hearth had dropped to nearly nothing, and she knelt down in front of it to add another log and stir the embers back to life. Immediately the room brightened and warmed, and she stood with a sigh. The men downstairs could come and make their proclamations and puff out their chests and then leave again. She remained. She was the one who’d put her blood and sweat and dreams into the old castle, and whoever claimed ownership today or tomorrow or the next day, she knew one thing deep in her soul—this place, these people, they belonged to her. And she belonged to them.
“When you stand in front of the fire like that,” the low, precise, English voice came, “I can see the silhouette of your legs.”
Fiona turned around as Gabriel silently closed the door behind him. “A gentleman firstly wouldnae be looking at my legs, and secondly wouldnae comment aboot them.” Asking why he was there wouldn’t serve any purpose; she knew the answer already. Goose bumps lifted on her arms.
“Is this gentleman of whom we’re speaking blind, by any chance?” As he spoke he began unbuttoning his red coat.
“I didnae say ye were invited in here,” she stated, mostly because that sounded like something she should be saying.
“Then tell me to leave.” His fingers paused their descent down his chest.
Fiona regarded him for a moment. A handful of years ago a lass who found an English soldier in her bedchamber had exceedingly good cause to be alarmed. Even speaking to a soldier would have meant trouble for her and for her family. In other circumstances that likely still held true—but he wasn’t just any soldier, and she supposed she wasn’t just any lass. Not tonight, anyway. “I reckon ye can stay fer a time,” she said aloud.
“It’ll be more than a time,” he returned with a grin that heated her all the way to her bones.
Oh, this was going to be very, very wicked.
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel hooked a finger into the low neckline of Fiona’s gown and yanked her forward, lowering his face over hers and taking her mouth in a whisky-tasting kiss. Digging her fingertips into his shoulders, she lifted along his body to deepen the embrace. Whatever the devil about him it was that felt so intoxicating, she couldn’t get enough. No damned interruptions this time, or someone was getting punched in the nose.
“Help me with my boots,” he murmured, letting her go as he pulled his shirt off over his head.
This time she wasn’t going to waste time arguing over who removed which piece of clothing for whom. Sinking onto her knees, she gripped one heel and pulled as he lifted his foot. Once the other one came free, she shifted her attention to his breeches. As she began unfastening them, his fingers dropped to her hair, pulling pins free and casting them aside.
Tiny shivers raced along her scalp and down her spine at his touch. It required all her concentration to open the last button, and then she took his trousers by the waist and drew them down. His very impressive cock made the degree of his lust unmistakable, and she closed her hand around it. When she deliberately ran her tongue from base to tip, his entire body jumped.
With a low, indecipherable curse he took her by the arms and lifted her to her feet again. “You are not some camp whore,” he murmured, his voice very controlled and still ragged at the edges. “And I am not going to come in your hand like some untried schoolboy.”
He kissed her again, openmouthed. Fiona ran her hands down his bare back, smooth skin with hard, toned muscle just beneath, crossed here and there by the different-textured scars with which war had decorated him. With sure fingers that said he’d done this sort of thing before, Gabriel untied the ribbon that ran beneath her breasts and then undid the single button at the nape of her neck.
“Arms up,” he commanded, teasing at her mouth again.
She complied. “I’m nae surrendering, ye ken.”
His laugh reverberated against her own ribs. “Just as well. I’m not ready to stop my advance yet.”
He sank down in front of her, gathering the blue of her skirts in his hands and standing as he lifted, until the gown slipped over her head and she stood naked before him. Gabriel kicked off his breeches and lifted her into his arms.
Fiona squeaked and flung her arms around his shoulders as her feet left the floor. She was a fairly slender woman, and he a tall man, but even so he didn’t seem to feel her weight. That in itself sent her heart speeding, and heat between her thighs.
Without ceremony Gabriel dumped her onto the middle of her bed, then climbed up after her. His knees on either side of her hips and his palms above her shoulders, he leaned down to take her mouth again. “I like your bed,” he stated unexpectedly, lifting his head and experimentally bouncing on all fours.
An exasperated laugh burst from her chest. “Ye like mybed?” she repeated, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for another kiss. Hot and shivery delight twirled through her, beginning at every place they touched skin to skin.
“Mine’s too soft. We’d have sunk out of sight by now.”
She remembered the maids talking about the pile of blankets he’d made on the floor, and she knew he’d had a camp cot put into his bedchamber. Was simple luxury that foreign to him? “If ye knew how many geese gave their feathers fer that mattress, ye’d nae be complaining.”
“It’s too soft,” he repeated, sliding lower to take one of her breasts in his mouth. “Yours is plump but firm. Much better.”
Fiona tilted her chin up, moaning. “I’m nae a damned mattress.”
He sucked, flicking her nipple with his tongue and then turning his attention to the other one. “I was talking about your bed, not you,” he returned, his voice muffled and tickling against her skin. “I’m looking forward to sinking into you.” Shifting his weight onto one arm, he trailed his free hand down to part her nether lips and slip inside. “Like this.”
