Chapter Five

"What?" Calla took a step back from the militant expression on the normally reserved woman's face. She couldn't believe Elena's mother had barged into their bedchamber to verbally attack her for something Elena had done.

"You heard me," Lady Barclay snapped, her green eyes flashing with ire. "Now, if that scoundrel does not marry my daughter, what are we to do? Her reputation will be ruined."

"She slipped out while I was asleep," Calla said, aghast that the woman would blame her.

"We don't pay you to sleep. We pay you to keep a close, watchful eye on Elena at all times, day and night."

"I am sorry. I had no inkling she would do something so bold and reckless as to go to a man's bedchamber in the middle of the night." Aye, bold, reckless and stupid.

Lady Barclay's face flushed red. " 'Tis because of you ," she seethed.

"What do you mean?" Calla asked, guilt and shame niggling at her conscience just as it did every time she feared someone knew her secret.

"Without doubt, you put the idea into her head."

"I did not ," Calla said firmly in as calm a tone as she could muster. If she didn't need the employment desperately, she would give the stodgy lady a piece of her mind.

"My daughter is an innocent. She knows naught about men or the sinful ways of the world." She eyed Calla accusingly.

"I'm a widow. That doesn't make me sinful. Your daughter has a mind of her own, and she was the one who decided to approach Laird Rebbinglen."

"Humph." Lady Barclay's gaze darted to Elena, then back to Calla again. "I have my eye on you, Lady Stanbury. If you do not improve your work performance, you will find yourself seeking employment elsewhere." She turned and quit the room, slamming the door in her wake.

Elena climbed into her bed, covered her head and burst into tears.

Perfect. Calla blew out an annoyed breath. "What happened, exactly, when you went to Laird Rebbinglen's room?"

"Naught," Elena whimpered, uncovering her head a bit. "He wouldn't even kiss me," she wailed.

"I see." Good. "And here you've caused everyone to think you've been thoroughly bedded."

Elena gasped, and turned to look wide-eyed at Calla. "I cannot believe you said that."

Calla shrugged. " 'Tis the truth. With your waywardness, you've endangered your own reputation and my job. I need this position." She still owed Claybourne a great deal of money and, in fact, had to send him another payment in a matter of days.

"Is that all you care about? What about my upcoming marriage? If Rebbie doesn't return…." She burst into tears again. "My life will be ruined," she wailed.

"Aye, well, you can thank yourself for that," Calla muttered too low for the sobbing girl to hear. On the one hand, Calla could lose her job over this fiasco, on the other, she was glad Rebbie had left and extracted himself from this marriage trap. If the two wed, they would be miserable. 'Twas easy for anyone to see Elena grated on his nerves.

They didn't suit at all, and Calla was perversely glad. Not because she wanted him for herself. Nay. Not at all.

Ha , something inside her taunted. You know good and well you had shocking dreams about him last night.

That might have been true, but she'd had no hand in this debacle.

***

Two days later at gloaming, Rebbie arrived back at Draughon Village after his visit to Perth. Since 'twas so late, he would stay at the Breakstane Inn tonight. In the morn, he would make a quick trip to Draughon Castle, meet with Barclay and his father, breaking the betrothal, and then he would leave again. Where to, he didn't know. He didn't want to go home to Castle Rebbinglen. 'Twas a big castle with no one about but the servants and the guards. And he hardly knew them, he'd been home so infrequently. He was not a clan chief like his friends and had no major responsibilities at the moment, aside from his four estates, which he'd hired stewards to look after in his absence. His father, the marquess , was chief over several clan chieftains, but he rarely had to deal with them, unless a dispute came up.

Where was Rebbie's true home?

He knew not, and was too tired to think of it at the moment.

At the livery stable, he removed Devil's saddle, then curried the horse. Devil swung his head around and perked his ears, giving him a questioning look as if to ask what the hell are you doing?

"I ken, lad," Rebbie muttered. "I'm acting a wee bit strange, aye?" But sometimes he liked currying a horse. 'Twas soothing to himself as well as the animal.

After paying the stable-master, he asked him to saddle Devil and deliver him to the inn by ten in the morn. Rebbie proceeded across the street to the inn, took a seat in the common room and ordered a pint of ale and supper.

Damnation, how he hated being alone. Humph. Mayhap he was going mad, for all he could think about was how happy Lachlan and Angelique were together. And Dirk and Isobel. They'd found the next thing to paradise here on earth, while Rebbie sat alone at a drab inn swilling ale and staring at a muddy street out the window. The darkened sky looked as if 'twas going to dump a deluge of rain upon them again.

But this was better than sitting by Lady Elena at supper while she blathered on about London, making him want to pull his own hair out.

He was not a coward. Nay, indeed. Tomorrow he was returning to Draughon and telling her father to rip up the betrothal contract. He'd have to pay the man a large amount in recompense. But ' twould be worth it. In truth, Rebbie's father should be the one paying it since he was the one who'd signed the hell-hated contract, but Rebbie wanted to prove himself an honorable and responsible man. And he truly didn't want to make an enemy of Barclay… unless that was the only option.

As for the young Lady Elena, she would forget him, and afore long, she would beam that annoying, coquettish smile up at some other laird.

At dark, Rebbie climbed the stairs to his rented room, went inside and fell onto the hard, narrow bed. When his eyes closed, only one woman filled his head. Calla. 'Twas in an inn much like this… well, mayhap a wee bit nicer… where he'd met her for the first time years ago.

Though he'd had too much to drink that night in Stirling , he clearly remembered what he'd thought when he'd first seen her slender form, that black cowl covering her head and those honey-blond curls peeking out. And, most delectable of all, those full pink lips and her fair skin. He'd murmured some inane greeting to her as he'd started up the steps. When she'd placed her hand upon his on the newel post, he'd been stunned immobile for a moment.

Once he'd recovered, he'd taken her hand in his and kissed the back. "M'lady, I'm certain you must be lost in such a place as this."

He hadn't known she was a lady. He'd only been guessing, given the expensive fabric of her new black cloak. Clearly, she was no tavern wench.

Her eyes had remained in shadow but he could easily see her rosy lips and her smile. At first he'd thought it a forced, nervous smile. She'd bitten her lower lip with straight white teeth and he'd had the urge to nibble it a wee bit himself.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he'd asked.

"Aye. You," she'd whispered.

He'd been shocked speechless for a moment. "Have we met?"

She shook her head.

He pushed her cowl back just enough to determine if he knew her. Her crystal gray eyes were the color of the clouds on a cold, misty morn. Nay, indeed. He did not know her, but he wanted to.

"Come," he invited, motioning for her to precede him up the steps, but not truly expecting her to.

She didn't hesitate, but rushed up the steps, surprising him again. Well indeed, tonight was his lucky night.

Once in his room, supposedly the nicest one in the inn, he barred the door, then turned to her. "May I take your cloak?" He wanted to see more of her… much more.

She nodded and he helped her remove the heavy woolen garment. Thankfully, a fire burned low in the hearth and the room was warm.

He placed her cloak upon a chair, then faced her again. Damnation, but she was a beauty. Her long blond curls were lush, as was her tempting mouth. But 'twas those haunting gray eyes with their long dark lashes that held him spellbound. So many conflicting emotions lurked there—as if she were unsure whether to be shy or bold—along with her obvious keen intelligence.

"What is your name?" he asked.

She dropped her gaze and he sensed her hesitation before she stepped closer, their bodies almost touching. Meeting his gaze again, she placed a silky finger upon his lips, instantly arousing him. "No names," she whispered, then removed her finger, stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. Her innocent kiss sent lust flaming through his body. He grasped her to him and deepened the kiss, hungry for a taste of her. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she gasped. He drew back an inch to gauge her reaction. Her eyes, now dark gray, were almost closed and her swollen lips parted.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" he asked.

"Aye," she whispered, her gaze searching his. She looked near as eager as he felt, thank the saints.

Upon drawing her closer, he kissed her neck and a shiver coursed through her body. She smelled good enough to eat, and her sweet, curvy body against his made all thoughts vanish from his mind except for one. He needed to feel her satiny skin against his own. Now.

"Are you maiden, wife, or widow?" he'd asked against her ear.

"Widow," she said. "My husband was old and—"

"Say no more." He couldn't tolerate the thought of some graybeard touching her flawless skin. 'Twas a common practice for older lairds to marry young lasses. Sacrilege.

Rebbie'd had encounters with several young widows, but this one seemed different somehow. With the whisky still heating his blood and fogging his mind, he couldn't figure it out. She was a beautiful, willing woman who aroused him and that was the most important thing at the moment.

He quickly dispensed with his own clothing, then turned her about to start the task of removing hers. Once he'd stripped the thin shift from her slender, delectable body, she covered her breasts with her arms. She was a sight to behold in the firelight.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, then tipped her chin up and kissed her. Gently, he coaxed her to relax and slide her arms around his neck. When he flicked his tongue against hers this time, she let out a breathy feminine moan and clenched her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

Mmm , aye. He kissed her deeply, relishing her sweet taste, and stroked his hands over her lovely curves… her perky breasts, her small waist, her slender hips.

Lust tensing his muscles and rampaging through him, he growled, picked her up and deposited her on the small bed. "Saints, lass," he hissed and brushed his lips over her breasts, then drew a beaded nipple into his mouth.

"Aye," she gasped and arched her back.

" Mmm ." He felt ready to explode already and he'd barely started.

Tweaking one nipple and rolling it between his thumb and finger, he suckled at the other. She tasted and smelled so sweet. He wanted to devour her.

"Oh, please," she whispered.

He stroked his hand down the outside of her thigh, and back up the inside, subtly urging her to open for him. Finding her wet, swollen and ready, arousal surged through him. He clenched his teeth and growled.

"Oh," she cried softly, then moaned as he stroked her. He watched the blissful expression on her face when he inserted a finger. He had to make certain she was no virgin, for he didn't want some angry father chasing him down and forcing him at sword point to marry the lass. Although, he wasn't certain even that would stop him from taking her at the moment.

But nay, she possessed no maidenhead and within seconds she reached climax, her body bowing against him as he stroked his fingers over her.

"Aye, that's good, mo leannan ," he whispered against her mouth, then kissed her.

She was starved for carnal relations. Rising to his knees and leaning over her, he placed kisses on her face as she gasped for breath.

"Are you ready for me, lass?"

She observed him with drugged eyes and nodded. "Aye."

He sure as hell was ready for her. He positioned himself and entered her slowly, the tight, drenched heat of her near stripping away his sanity. Instinct possessed him and he thrust hard.

She gasped and pulled at his hair.

"Sorry," he breathed. "You've driven me to the edge of madness." He bit her earlobe and drew it into his mouth.

Caressing his shoulders, she wriggled beneath him, pressing her breasts more firmly against his chest and thrusting her hips.

He cursed, unsure exactly what he said, and thrust. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain consumed him. Nay, he could not stop. He drove into her, over and over, lust and oblivion devouring him. All he knew was she was perfection, and instinct spurred him to take her as hard as he could. Brand her. Make her his. Moments later, her legs were wrapped around his hips, and her inner muscles caressed him, squeezed him mercilessly. She gave a keening scream of pleasure, and he could do naught but let go and lose himself in her. Never had he experienced such an uncontrollable fire of pleasure.

He knew he acted like a rutting animal, growling, grinding into her, but he could not help it.

Afterward he gasped for breath, cursing himself for not being gentler with her. "I'm sorry." He breathed hard.

"Nay." Trying to catch her own breath, she smiled. " 'Twas amazing."

"Aye, indeed." Like no bedding he had ever experienced. And he didn't even know her name.

Rolling to his side, he drew her close against his chest. He was as spent as a lathered horse. At least, he thought he was, until she kissed his chest.

He hummed a low sound of appreciation and she continued. Each kiss awoke his body once more. Soon his shaft was standing at attention. She trailed a hand down his chest and abdomen, over his hip and to his leg.

" Mmm , aye."

Her hand moved upward again, brushing over his erect shaft. He hissed. She drew back and watched while she stroked it.

Observing her lustful expression and erotic actions, he growled.

She glanced up at him, her beautiful eyes darker. How he loved arousing her.

"You are…" God, he didn't know. He stroked a thumb over her smooth, flawless cheek, pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her lips. "Lovely," he breathed, though the word could never do her justice. Something about her riveted him. Excited him. How could he ever get enough of her? He knew not, but he would try.

Much to his delight, she seemed unable to get enough of him either. Never had he indulged in so many rollicking rounds of bedsport in one night. ' Slud , he'd be lucky if he could walk in the morn.

In the wee hours, he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep.

When he'd awakened in the gray morning light, she was gone. The room was cold and so was the bed. 'Twas almost as if she hadn't been there at all, except for the long, honey-blond hair he found on the pillow. He wrapped the curl around his finger and stared at it for a long time, remembering what they'd shared, his heart pounding. That day, he'd bought a locket and put the curl inside. Though 'twas daft, he couldn't part with that one tiny part of her he had left.

He'd looked for her around Stirling , waited each night at the inn to see if she would show up again. How could she simply vanish? He kept wondering if she truly was a widow, or married. If he'd seen her walking down a street with a man, he certainly wouldn't have approached them. He would've been disappointed, but he wouldn't have revealed their secret. He could be as discreet as anyone; he'd simply wanted to know more about her. And if she truly was a widow… well, he didn't know.

Shaking his head, Rebbie came back to the present. Saints! Never had another woman captivated him as much as she had. Not before or since. He'd looked. He'd searched for a woman who engaged his mind, his senses, his lust, a woman who would touch his soul, just as she had, but he'd found none.

***

Calla climbed into the coach at Draughon , eager to be out of the chill morning rain. Her excuse for the errand into the village today was to pick up Lady Elena's new dress. Of course, her main reason was meeting the messenger again, but no one need know that. One maid accompanied her, along with the driver and an armed guard.

Elena was devastated because she'd been the reason Rebbie left and had near made herself sick over the whole debacle. He had been gone for days and no one could predict whether he would return or not. With the rain pouring down, Lady Barclay would not allow Elena outside. And yet, Elena wouldn't stop complaining about not being able to try on her new dress today. Since this was the day Calla was to meet Hobbs again anyway, to send a payment to Claybourne, 'twas the perfect excuse for making a quick excursion into the village.

Gazing out the coach window at the passing greenery, the wood, and the mountains in the distance, Calla wondered where Rebbie was. She felt so conflicted about his disappearance she could hardly sleep at night. One part of her was glad he'd escaped the marriage trap Elena and her father had tried to spring on him. While another part of her missed his mysterious dark gaze and sensual smile. She was powerfully drawn to him, but at the same time, any additional moment spent in his presence was a risk.

In the village, the driver pulled the coach to a halt in front of the dressmaker's shop. "You wait here. I'll be back in a trice," she told the maid. Thankfully, the rain had diminished to a fine mist. Wearing her boots, Calla leapt out into the mud and hurried into the shop.

"Lady Elena was not feeling well this morn and couldn't come," she told Mistress MacGee , the matronly dressmaker who always wore an annoyed frown. "If any alterations are required, we'll return at a later time. While you're wrapping up the dress, I'll slip out back and use the privy."

Mistress MacGee's frown deepened. "Very well."

Of course, Calla had no need for the privy at the moment. She simply needed a way to slip to the livery stable without the guard, driver, or maid seeing her. They would be sure to tell their employer about her odd actions.

Once out the back door, Calla ran along the nondescript back of the stone buildings until she reached the livery, where she was to meet Hobbs. No one was out and about. Mayhap she was a bit early. Blast! But she had asked him to come early and wait if necessary.

She crept over the cobblestones and inside the stables, the scent of horse manure assaulting her nose. "Anyone here? Hobbs?"

A tall, thin man stepped out of the shadows. "Hobbs couldn't make it today." He grinned.

Claybourne?

The demon who took every penny she earned. Calla's heart vaulted into her throat. She turned and bolted toward the street. But the long-legged beast was quicker, and he snatched her off her feet. Calla screamed. Oh dear God, help me, she prayed. What would he do to her, rape her in the stables?