Chapter 13

Ailis wasn'tsure what she'd expected when she challenged him again. A retort along the same lines as before, about freedom and her duty to honor the promise she made, perhaps.

She wasn't expecting the soft growl before his lips captured hers in a kiss that seemed to drive every thought she'd ever had out of her head.

Duncan's lips tasted of salt and faintly of the fresh bread and mead he'd had for breakfast. The scent around him was one of leather, aged stone, a slight hint of sweat and iron, and something wild and masculine she could not describe.

The heat of his body enveloped her as he pushed her back against the wall. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, and she gasped at his boldness, as his tongue invaded her mouth and tangled with hers.

She'd read about kisses that could make a lass weak in the knees, but she'd never experienced one. It was… overwhelming.

Hewas overwhelming as he pressed closer, allowing her to feel the bulge beneath his kilt. One rough, callused hand pinned her hands above her head as his mouth thoroughly claimed hers, until she was panting.

Nor was there any relief when the kiss finally ended. Duncan merely shifted his head to press another kiss to the curve of her jaw, marking her in a way that could not be denied.

His voice was a low, husky growl, full of things other than anger as he whispered in her ear, "Ye forget, little Ailis, that I ken yer fantasies. Yer passions. I ken what ye want from a man, the things nay agreeable old man could ever hope to give ye."

His free hand tugged at the laces of her bodice, loosening them until he could drag the fabric down to expose her breasts to the air. She shivered as he cupped each breast in turn, stroking and teasing her nipples until they hardened under his touch.

Every touch sent tingles down her spine, and she shuddered, held up by his hands, his body pinning her to the wall, his firm thighs pressed against hers.

She moaned softly.

"I long for ye to back me up against the wall and touch me until I cannae do aught save beg for more."

It took a moment for her to realize he was quoting one of her letters. She might have protested, had he not bent his head to suck on her right breast, and rendered her entirely speechless as his teeth and tongue teased the sensitive flesh until she was squirming against him.

He switched to the other breast as his free hand slid slowly down her belly, leaving fire in its wake. Ailis shivered as he smoothed his palm over the plane of her stomach, his finger caressing her navel briefly. Even through the damp fabric, his touch was arousing, and far more intense than she'd ever imagined it might be.

Far more erotic as well.

Then his touch slid lower, stroking between her thighs and cupping her sex, pressing the sea-dampened fabric against her heated flesh. The sensation made her cry out and arch her back, pressing against his touch, wanting more.

She'd never felt anything like this, and she was helpless to do anything more than react as his palm pressed against her and his fingers stroked the seam of her sex.

Her fingers dug into his wild dark hair. "Duncan… Duncan…"

She didn't even know what she was pleading for—whether she wanted him to stop or continue.

His laughter was like dark smoke in the air, the sound full of promise as his kisses slid slowly up her chest and throat and his hand slid slowly lower. His knee nudged her legs apart as his fingers caught in the skirt of her dress and tugged it up her thighs along with her chemise.

The sensation made her quiver, half in shock and half in trepidation. For all she'd imagined something like this, she was quickly realizing that her dreams were nothing compared to the real experience.

His hand caressed her bare inner thighs, close to her most vulnerable and secret place. She started to try and bring her knees together, but his own kept her open to his touch

His voice was velvet and desire as he whispered, "Nae, lass. Dinnae deny yerself. Ye wished for this. And yer wish… is me command…"

Two fingers touched her, sliding feather-light over the lips of her sex and through the soft, fine hair that covered her entrance. Ailis jerked, her whole body responding to the fire that zinged through her, straight to her core.

He was barely touching her, and already she felt as if she'd been set ablaze by him, desire and heat catching her off-guard and threatening to overwhelm her.

"Relax, lass." His voice caressed her ears, even as his fingers did the same to her body. "I can feel how ready ye are… how much ye want this."

Two fingers slid over the lips of her sex, then a third slipped between them to caress the inner folds and tease the damp walls. Ailis shuddered and gasped as the sensations washed over her. Her hips ground against his hand.

Her attention was split in two, between the kisses he pressed like little points of flame to her throat and the feel of his fingers slowly pressing deeper within her and building an inferno of sensations between her legs.

She was writhing against him, crying out for his touch, helpless in the face of pleasure like nothing she'd ever experienced or dreamed was possible.

She couldn't find words. She could barely form coherent thoughts and was vaguely aware that if he'd asked her to go to the priest, right this minute, she probably would have agreed.

His mouth claimed hers once again as his finger found a particular spot in her sex, a small, sensitive bud, and stroked it firmly.

The sensations were too much, and Ailis fell against him as the world dissolved into pleasure and fire.

* * *

It was an effort to hold himself back as Ailis came apart around his fingers, but he managed. He held her close as her body shuddered from her release, and did his best to ignore the fierce ache in his still-confined erection.

There was a large part of him that longed to lift her onto his desk, where he could lay her down and sheathe his hard shaft in her warmth. Another part of him urged him to lay her on the rug and pleasure her until they were both too exhausted and spent to do more than lie there together.

He did neither. He couldn't.

He'd acted to keep her with him, unwilling to let her go, but now that the haze of anger and jealousy had been doused somewhat, his head was clearing, and he knew without a doubt in his heart that he'd done them both a disservice.

He'd recklessly committed himself to the fulfillment of her dreams, and yet he knew it was a promise he couldn't keep.

He might be able to give her passion, but Ailis was no wench to satisfy with a tumble between the linens before separating again. She wanted, and deserved, far more.

Someday, she would want more from him than just passionate encounters like those she'd described in her letters. And what would he do when that day came?

He would lose her, or he would lose himself.

Ailis blinked at him, awareness returning to her eyes. He waited until it was clear that she could keep herself upright, then released her and stepped back. He watched in silence as she righted her clothes.

He waited until she looked at him again before he spoke, "I'm sorry I was so angry."

She looked taken aback by his comment and how quickly he returned to their previous conversation, but she nodded. "I just wish I kenned why. Why ye get so angry and then turn so cold. Why ye seem determined to keep me at arm's length one moment and then seduce me the next. Ye willnae let me go, nor let me close, and I wish ye'd choose one or the other."

He couldn't answer. She watched him for a moment, her disappointment now tempered by sadness instead of anger. After a minute passed in silence, she whispered, "Can ye at least give me some idea of why? I might not agree, but I think I could at least bear it better if I had some idea why ye are the way ye are."

"I cannae protect ye otherwise." He tried to say more, to explain, but the words simply wouldn't come. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't reveal the truth to her. He couldn't risk himself, or Lily, that way. Not even for her.

"Protect us from what? Ye did well enough with the bandits in the woods, and ye have little threats around ye, isolated as ye are."

He should tell her. He should give her some idea of what he was facing, and what Jack had told him. But long-held caution kept his tongue still, despite the fact that a part of him longed to tell her everything.

After a moment, she sighed. "As ye will. I can see ye're nae ready to tell me aught. Ye cannae trust me, it seems, even though ye clearly ken more about me than anyone else and ye hold me dreams in yer hands."

She moved over to his desk and sat down, then took a piece of paper from the tray, along with a quill and inkwell. He longed to ask what she was doing, but her words had frozen his tongue.

What right had he to demand anything of her? She was right, after all.

She wrote out a short missive, folded it, and sealed it with a dot of wax. Then she rose, her expression still filled with that mix of sadness, hurt, and resignation. "Ye have messengers at the stables?"

"Aye." He swallowed. "Will ye tell me what that is?"

He couldn't demand it, though he wanted to. He feared it was the letter she'd threatened to send to her father. From the look on her face, she guessed the direction his thoughts were going.

Her expression softened just a bit. "'Tis a letter for Maisie and Keith, to tell them I'm comin' to visit within the next few days, and I'll be stayin' a while."

"Ye will?"

"Aye." She shook her head. "I cannae stay here, nae like this. I cannae keep livin' in this constant state of being pulled too close one moment and shoved away the next. ‘Tis nae fair to me. And ‘tis nae fair to Lily for me to be constantly here, caught between yer demands that I avoid her and her own need for company and the friendship of someone—anyone."

He wanted to protest, but as usual, she gave him no time. "So, as soon as arrangements are made, I'll be visitin' Maisie. And I'll nae be comin' back unless I receive a letter from ye sayin' that ye truly want me to return."

She went to the door, then paused. "Two words of wisdom for ye, Duncan Wallace. First, dinnae write that letter unless ye're willin' to let me into yer life as more than just a shadow on the edges of yer secrets, yer family and yer clan."

She took a deep breath. "And second, though ye may hate me for sayin' it, dinnae hold yer daughter so close and so sternly. The way ye're going, ye may drive her to write to a ‘Laird Imaginary' of her own afore too long. And what will ye do then, when she's that desperate for companionship and freedom that she's seeking any lover, real or nae, to help her escape?"

Then she was gone, her last words ringing in his ears like the warning knell of the alarm bell.

Duncan collapsed into his chair, his head and his heart hurting in a way that entirely eclipsed the untended ache in his engorged shaft.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and rose to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He sipped it slowly as the ache in his chest and below his belt both subsided.

Ailis didn't understand, and he wasn't strong enough to tell her the truth. Not about himself or what had happened seven years ago. And as much as that pained him, he had more important things to worry about.

There were watchers in the shadows and the chance that Clan Fraser was moving against them once again. If his fears were correct, then they were all in danger. That took precedence over Ailis's hurt feelings, or even Lily's desire to escape the castle.

And perhaps it was for the best. If Ailis was hurt and angry enough to go to her friend, then she would be safe at least. Laird MacDean was known to be a fierce warrior and a strong defender of his people and his friends and allies.

He briefly considered sending Lily with her but dismissed the idea. That might make them too tempting a target, especially if Clan Fraser was renewing the feud between their clan and his. They would be too vulnerable on the road.

Besides, Ailis would ask questions, and if he couldn't answer them now, how would he be able to answer them then?

With another sigh, Duncan refilled his drink and leaned back in his chair.

His personal life might be a disaster, but there were threats to be dealt with, and work to do. He might be a failure as a fiancé, or a proper husband, but he would continue to do his best to be a good laird and a good father.

What other choice did he have?