Cate did the same, and then entered the Hall to wait for him. But Gregor didn’t appear. None of the Phantoms did.
It didn’t take her long to discover they’d gone to the village. But it wasn’t until John kept dodging her questions and refused to look her in the eye that Cate guessed why.
Horror descended over her in a smothering mask. Her last conversation with Gregor came back to her. She knew the way he thought. He’d taken her words as a challenge, and he’d gone to the alehouse to prove that what they had wasn’t special.
She should have known better than to push him when he was like this. But she’d been so confident—so certain she knew him. So certain he loved her and wouldn’t be able to do it.
Her stomach curdled. She wanted to bend over and wrap her arms around her middle, but she hid her pain behind a stony mask of calm as she finished the meal and walked upstairs to change. She would see the truth for herself. Only then would she accept what her heart was already telling her.
“The handsomest man in Scotlandandone of Bruce’s Phantoms? Just wait until I tell my sister.”
If there was any doubt whether the news of his place in the guard had spread there wasn’t a few minutes after arriving at the ale house. The secret was out.
Gregor’s smile hid the flash of irritation caused by the lass’s remarks. But rather than nudge her off his lap, he concentrated on the soft bottom rubbing against his cock, the full, heavy breasts brushing the hand that he had wrapped around her waist, and the very talented mouth that he knew from past experience would give plenty of pleasure.
Also from past experience, he knew that she’d shout from the bloody rooftops that she’d had him in her bed. Needless to say, after the first time—no matter how pleasurable—he hadn’t gone back.
But what the hell did he care? It was the way it was. Why fight it? She would get something to lord over her sister and the other lasses—war widows, mostly—who took advantage of the rooms above Annie’s alehouse for companionship, and he would get a night of mind-blowing, head-clearing lust.
To hell with Cate and what she thought. She didn’t know a damned thing. She might have tricked him into marriage, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else from him. He could take whoever he wanted to his bed. Her “special” “only me” shite was exactly that.
Maggie leaned closer. The blast of lavender smote him. Cate used lavender, but on her, the scent was soft and delicate and made him want to inhale and draw it deeper into his lungs. On Maggie, it was cloying and overpowering and made him want to run outside to get a breath of fresh air to clear the stench from his nose.
He swore silently and reached for his tankard. Why the hell was he even thinking about her? Cate was wrong, damn it,wrong.
Maggie had leaned in to whisper something to him. “Are they Phantoms, too?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
“They” meaning his three frowning brethren crowded on the benches around the small table with him, who were doing damned fine impressions of Father Roland, the village priest.
Nay, not priests,monks. But just because they’d been gelded by their wives and didn’t want to have any fun sure as hell didn’t mean Gregor couldn’t. To hell with them, too. To hell with all of them.
“These three?” He looked over at his disapproving-looking companions. “Do they look like the best warriors in Scotland? They’re just West Highland brigands, hoping to make a few coins now that Bruce is poised for victory.”
Even MacSorley’s eyes narrowed at that. Gregor glared back at him. What did they want, for him to confirm it for her?
Maggie looked unconvinced as she scrutinized the fierce, hulking warriors. “I don’t know.” She wrinkled her nose. “They certainly look big and scary enough to be Phantoms.”
“All muscle,” he said. “The Phantoms are clever.”Unlike these three, he left unsaid. That she seemed to accept. “If I were a Phantom”—the rumors might have reached the village, but Gregor wasn’t going to admit anything—“I would hardly be in their company so publicly.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, snuggling deeper into his lap. When that didn’t give her the desired effect, she started to circle her fingers on his stomach and rub her soft, in-danger-of-falling-out-of-her-bodice breasts against his chest.
The lass had fantastic breasts. They were big and lush, and he could remember burying his face in the deep crevice, cupping, squeezing, and then sucking the cherry-red tips until they’d extended a good half-inch and poked against his tongue.
Despite the generous size of her chest, Maggie was slender and dark-haired, the way he liked. She was taller than Cate but her body was too soft, not firm and taut like…
He stopped, swore again—this time not so silently—and took another guzzle of his ale. The tankard was discernibly lighter than before. He shot a glare at MacRuairi, who was seated next to him, suspecting that he’d been emptying it when Gregor’s back was turned.
Christ almighty! They were treating him like a damned bairn. He didn’t need watching over—or saving. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Then why did he feel like he had when he was younger, and he knew he was making a mistake but just couldn’t seem to stop himself?
His stomach muscles clenched as Maggie’s hand dipped to the waist of his breeches. But it wasn’t lust he was fighting.
It felt good, damn it. Ithadto feel good. How could it not? Her hand was only inches from his cock. But his body wasn’t responding the way it should to her touch.
Only me…
He told that voice to shut the hell up. That wasn’t it. He just needed Maggie’s hand wrapped around him. Her mouth sucking him. Then he would feel it.
