Highland Betrayal Read online

  Besides, bathing twice in one day was a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed for a long while.

  She undressed quickly, and twirled a finger in the lukewarm water—even more enticing than the treat she’d enjoyed in Solomon’s shelter. She stepped into the tub and sat, knees tucked to her breasts.

  The metal was cold to her back, but the warm water on her body felt wonderful. The only thing missing was the Castile soap. “And Morgan,” she whispered as she smoothed wet hands over rigid nipples.

  BASKING IN THE GLOW

  Morgan had never been partial to fish but was resigned to it being the main item on the menu for as long as they remained in Stonehyve. He was anxious to be dismissed from the tedious dinner and had no patience for extricating a thousand tiny bones from the oily creature of the deep on his plate. He’d almost prefer the broth made of peas and beans that the army cooks dished up with monotonous regularity.

  General Abbott also seemed preoccupied with his meal and was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Sulking because he’ll have to relinquish command to Hartlock when he arrives,” one of the other officers remarked.

  “Mayhap he just doesn’t like fish either,” Morgan replied.

  “Missing his favorite doxy, I shouldn’t wonder,” another said with a wink. “I hear she didn’t come to his room last night.”

  Morgan felt a pang of sympathy for the woman obliged to share Abbott's bed and wondered briefly who she might be. His thoughts soon drifted to Hannah. Concerned she might be hungry, he secreted a heel of bread in his napkin and clutched it in his lap, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the tabletop when it occurred to him she’d probably given up and fled back to the camp.

  That notion was disturbing. Despite the general’s strict orders, it was inevitable there’d be English soldiers out looking for women, willing or not.

  Yawning, Abbott finally signalled an end to the torment with a dismissive wave of the hand. Morgan retrieved his buff coat from the back of his chair and stuffed the purloined bread in the pocket as he shrugged it on. He helped himself to a handful of stale almonds left in a serving bowl and added them to his stash.

  Judging by the hasty departure of most of the others, he’d wager he wasn’t the only officer with a woman waiting. A group of five or six hurried down the steps with him and headed in the direction of the inn. They exchanged lewd comments about the physical attributes of various camp whores.

  Morgan shut them out. They knew what awaited them. He was unsure.

  Not a whore, of that he was certain. A woman who cared for him? He was fairly confident she did. Or was she a spy manipulating him because she feared he might expose her?

  Most of his companions had imbibed a fair amount of ale. Laughing boisterously, they burst into the inn with no regard for the hour and ignored the scowling innkeeper’s exhortations to hush.

  Morgan hung back while the others were provided with candle lanterns and sent on their way.

  “Did you receive my message?” he asked the innkeeper.

  The man’s eyes widened as he scratched his balding head. “Ye’re nay an Englishmon.”

  Again!

  “I’m Welsh,” he replied, almost crushing the bread hidden in his pocket. “The bath?”

  “Oh, aye. The lads took it up. Nobody about at this hour to teck it out.”

  “The morrow is time enough,” Morgan replied. “I’ll settle with you then.”

  The man furrowed bushy red eyebrows as he handed Morgan the key and a candle lantern with two of the horn windows missing. “Aye, weel, seeing as how ye’re a Welshmon, I’ll teck yer word fer it.”

  Morgan accepted the lantern and ascended the creaky stairs, shielding the flickering flame with his hand. Bawdy laughter—male and female—sounded from some of the rooms, but his end of the landing was quiet. He sat on the top step, set the lantern down and pulled off his boots.

  Footwear clutched in one hand, lantern in the other, he tiptoed to his room. Pausing outside, he put an ear to the door, wondering if he should knock, then chuckled at his own foolishness. “You’re like a green lad with his first girl,” he whispered, willing his hand to stop trembling as he turned the key in the lock and eased open the door.

  He raised the lantern and pressed his knees to the bed, glad of the support. Hannah lay huddled between the sheets, apparently asleep.

  She had stayed.

  Flickering in the draught, the candle’s unprotected flame shed light on a washtub wedged into the corner of the room. It wasn’t the luxurious bathtub he’d had in mind, but he hoped she’d enjoyed it.

  He closed the door cautiously with his elbow, looking about for somewhere safe to put the lantern. He noticed Hannah’s shift arranged across the top of the iron railings of the bedstead, like laundry spread out to dry. She’d apparently made good use of the water, but that was what camp followers did.

  His mouth went dry when it occurred to him she must be naked.

  His cock saluted the possibility, but his sober Protestant upbringing warned that such behavior was too brazen, too out of character.

  He held the candle close to the bed and carefully lifted the sheet, afraid the pulse thudding in his ears might waken her.

  She shifted onto her back, her black hair spread across the pillow like raven’s wings, one hand resting beside her head, mouth open. Desire boiled like a volcano about to erupt. Her arms, shoulders and legs were bare, but she’d knotted the plaid shawl around her body to protect her modesty. If there’d been space in the cramped cubbyhole he’d have strutted like a rooster. He knew for certain that when the right time came, he’d be the first to possess her.

  He blew out the candle, stripped down to his undershirt and drawers and climbed into the narrow bed. The light from a few remaining torches on the shore road cast barely a glimmer into the room. He lay on his side on the very edge of the mattress, consumed by an urge to take her into his embrace but nervous he might startle her.

  A sharp intake of breath told him she’d awakened. The bed creaked as she turned to him. “Ye came,” she whispered sleepily, reaching out a warm hand to cup his face.

  He controlled the raging beast that thirsted to ravish her. “Yes, and you waited.”

  “Aye,” she replied, smoothing a thumb over the stubble on his chin, making him wish he was a weaker man. “Though I truly dinna ken why. I’m drawn to ye, Morgan Pendray, but…”

  He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I understand. I’ll never force you, Hannah. When you’re ready…”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat when she snuggled into him, her forehead pressed to his chest. He slid his arm beneath her and cradled her to his body, elated to feel the heat of her arm around his waist. His hard arousal must be obvious, but she didn’t pull away. She trusted him.

  “You can tell how much I want you,” he confessed.

  “Aye,” she murmured. “I ne’er felt this way about a mon afore. ’Tis a torment to want so fiercely.”

  A thunderbolt struck him. In this woman’s eyes he was a desirable man. A thousand fantasies he’d never considered indulging in with Blodwen flew through his mind. “We can bring each other pleasure and keep your maidenhead intact,” he whispered, hoping he sounded like a confident lover. Encouraged by her silence, he held his breath and brushed a thumb over a nipple. “Like this,” he rasped.

  “Aye,” she whimpered, arching her back.

  ~~~

  Hannah hadn’t known her nipples were intimately connected to every other sensitive part of her body. The soles of her feet felt ticklish. Her scalp tingled. A pulsing need pooled in her lower belly. She curled her fingers into Morgan’s undershirt; the heat of his skin soared up her arm and made her breasts swell almost painfully.

  “Lie on your back,” he whispered.

  She obeyed, held in the thrall of his husky, lilting voice. He stroked his fingers the length of one arm then the other. He traced a lazy line across the top of her shawl. Her nipples cried out to be touched
again, but she was afraid to voice such desires. The near-panic subsided when he fulfilled her need. She whimpered with relief as he teased both nipples with fingers and thumbs, stirring sensations of wantonness she’d never known. Her legs fell open of their own accord and she draped one leg over his, rubbing the side of her foot against the soft hair of his shin.

  “May I untie the knot?” he asked.

  His gentlemanly request heightened her yearning, though she was afraid to think too deeply on the reason for it. Unable to speak, she nodded. Even in the near darkness he seemed to understand her agreement. He came to his knees and gently untied the shawl, baring her to his gaze.

  Long moments passed, as if he was absorbing all the meagre light allowed him to see, but she didn’t feel embarrassment. His throaty breathing told her he liked what he saw and heightened her craving for him.

  She knew before he lowered his head that he intended to suckle her. She held her breast to his warm lips. He drew the nipple into his mouth and laved it with his tongue. She could only whimper his name as the unbearably wonderful ache in her most intimate place grew more intense.

  Her legs and hips took on a life of their own, parting, pushing, craving…

  “I…I…want…” she panted, but his kiss muffled her scream when his fingers found the very spot that begged for his touch. She couldn’t breathe, but he breathed for her. The warm liquid pooling between her legs was mortifying, until he licked his fingers. “You taste like sweet honey,” he rasped.

  Still her body pleaded for something, though she knew not what until he stroked her intimate place again and the world exploded.

  ~~~

  Holding a beautiful woman basking in the glow of what he knew in his heart was her first sexual release was Morgan’s undoing.

  The taste, the perfume, the softness, the responsiveness of Hannah’s body brought him to the edge of his endurance. The urge to thrust into her wet heat was overwhelming, but he doubted he’d even manage to rid himself of his undergarments before the inevitable overtook him.

  On the one hand, the prospect of spilling his seed showed a complete collapse of the solid wall he’d built to contain his emotions. On the other, he’d no intention of risking giving her a child. The time wasn’t right.

  But his heart and his body hungered to share something of his euphoria with her. “Hold me tight,” he growled, bringing her hand to his arousal.

  To his relief, she didn’t startle. He curled her fingers around his manhood and let his hips do the rest, squeezing her so tightly with his free hand he feared he might break every bone in her sensuous body. But he held on when his seed erupted from his loins. He swirled his tongue in her ear and might have shouted something in Welsh as rapture carried him off to a future that suddenly seemed very clear.

  DROOLING

  It was still dark when Hannah drifted awake, unsure for a moment where she was. Then she inhaled the reassuring scent of the man against whose chest she lay. Her legs were entwined with his and her hand rested against a hard bulge. The heat of his manhood penetrated his underclothing.

  “Awake at last, lazybones,” he murmured into her hair, his husky voice slurred with sleep.

  Curiosity got the better of her as she curled her fingers around him. “Has it been hard like this all night?”

  He chuckled. “Only when our bodies touched.”

  She smiled at his jest. “So ye didna sleep at all?”

  “I didn’t need sleep. I was content just to lie here with you in my arms.”

  She rubbed her nose against him. “’Tis soft, the hair on yer chest, but rougher on yer legs.”

  He lifted her to lie on top of him. “And you are soft all over.”

  Doubts crept in with dawn’s grey light. She knew nothing about intimacy with a man. Had he found her pleasing? “I didna ken,” she began hesitantly.

  Again, he seemed able to divine her thoughts as he sifted his fingers through her hair. “I can’t explain the joy you gave me. I hope you felt the same.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “’Twas magical.”

  Silent minutes went by, then he chuckled. “Are you drooling on me, Hannah Kincaid?”

  She raised her head, wiped her chin and licked his neck. “Ye’re teasin’ me.”

  He scrunched his shoulder and laughed out loud, but they quieted abruptly when a loud knock sounded at the door.

  “It’s me and Syddall, sir,” Smythe shouted.

  He exhaled loudly as he lifted her off his body and covered her. “God save me from efficient batmen. Stay hidden.”

  He stood to open the door.

  She snuggled into the warm space left behind and pulled the sheet over her head.

  “Mornin, sir, mornin’ Mistress Kincaid,” both lads chimed together.

  So much for hiding. She lowered the sheet to her nose and mumbled, “Good morrow to ye both.”

  “We took the liberty of orderin’ more ‘ot water, sir,” Smythe explained, eyeing the laundry tub. “With your permission, we’ll empty it before the kitchen lads get here. You likely heard General Hartlock's troops arrive.”

  Keeping the lower part of his body behind the door, Morgan waved them into the room. They sidestepped to the window, opened it, lifted the tub and emptied the water into the street. With the same efficiency they closed the window, returned the tub to its place and stepped to the door. “Brought a clean uniform for you as well, sir,” Smythe said. “Just outside on the landin’.”

  “I see your ankle is mended,” he remarked to Smythe.

  “Yes, sir,” his batman replied with a grin. “Thanks to your…er…Mistress Kincaid. Will you need my help with dressing, sir?”

  It was still fairly dark in the room but Hannah noticed Morgan’s blush. “No,” he replied curtly.

  His obvious embarrassment confirmed her belief he wasn’t a man who regularly entertained women in his lodgings. She crossed her legs, achingly aware of the part of his body the door concealed from his men.

  Smythe chivvied the scullery boys when they arrived. After a few minutes steam rose from the laundry tub and she and Morgan were again alone.

  It occurred to her he’d been anxious to give her pleasure, yet remained true to his word. She’d learned a lot about her own body, but darkness had hidden parts of him about which she was curious. Plucking up her courage, she threw off the sheet and crawled on all fours to sit on the edge of the bed beside the tub. “We canna waste this luxury,” she said. “I’ll wash ye, if ye like.”

  ~~~

  Morgan’s mouth fell open and his arousal hardened further at the enticing sight of Hannah’s bottom as she crawled across the bed. He had a lunatic urge to ask her to do it again, and again.

  But time was wasting. She’d offered to wash him. It would be a delicious torment, but he’d no intention of denying himself the pleasure. His wife had always averted her eyes from his manhood, especially if he was aroused, but he’d a feeling Hannah would be different. He slammed the door, tore off his undershirt and dropped his drawers.

  Second thoughts immediately assailed him. When Blodwen had fulfilled her wifely duty and helped him bathe, he’d always been seated in the cast-iron bathtub. He’d have to stand in the laundry tub, which meant…

  Hannah gaped, seemingly in shock. What had he been thinking? He stepped out of the undergarment pooled at his feet and walked towards her. “Don’t be afraid. I know I am a big man, but when the time comes…”

  She blinked and licked her lips. “I ne’er saw anything so wondrous,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his rampant cock. “Can I touch ye?”

  He swallowed hard and stepped into the tub. “Aye,” he rasped. “I’d like that.”

  Typically, he hadn’t voiced his true feelings. With this woman things had to be different. “Nay, Hannah, I’d love it.”

  He clenched his fists and watched as she touched a fingertip to his rigid phallus. “Don’t be afraid,” he managed when his arousal bucked.

  “I dinna want to hurt
ye,” she replied.

  Some incoherent response probably emerged from his mouth, but his mind filled with a thousand and one ways to be rid of the obstacles that lay between them. He closed his eyes and drifted into a blissful world where there was only her hand stroking him, cupping his sack, washing his legs, his arms, his belly, his chest. Then, thanks be to God, she licked him.

  His eyes flew open. She’d licked him. Without being asked. Just because she wanted to. This strong woman who had thumbed her nose at Cromwell’s might was suckling him, like a contented babe, eyes closed, hands gripping his hips, breasts teasing his thighs. He’d died and gone to heaven. He thrust back his head, inhaled deeply, pushed her down on the bed and crawled to hover over her. “Forgive me,” he growled. “I can’t wait.”

  ~~~

  Hannah’s heart thudded in her ears as she clung to Morgan, relishing his weight, breathing with him as his manhood slid between her breasts. The bed creaked rhythmically as he sought his release. She was proud of her independence and courage, but now she willingly submitted to his dominance, drawing strength from him. He shouted something she thought might be Welsh and laughed heartily when his hot seed flowed over her breasts and belly.

  His joy echoed her own. Morgan wasn’t a man to reveal his feelings, but he’d held nothing back from her.

  Yet she hid many things from him. Of necessity.

  “I have no control over myself with you,” he lamented breathlessly. “You’ll have to wash me again.”

  “That’s nay a hardship,” she replied with a grin.

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Then I’ll bathe you.”

  The memory of the blissful heights she’d scaled when he’d touched her sent desire spiralling into her womb. “I’d love that,” she replied in a sultry voice she didn’t recognize.