How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 26

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  Fenella saw them off, waving a gnarled glove-free hand, her eyes narrowing as they clattered through the gates. She was probably surmising that her infernal biscuits had worked.

  Annis turned away from the castle and faced forward again. She counted eight riders accompanying them as they made their way in a small cart through the woods surrounding the keep. “We won’t go far,” Sinclair declared as though she were worried about the matter.

  It had never occurred to her to fret. Although, with brigands lurking about, she supposed the issue of safety should have crossed her mind. She sent Sinclair a measuring look. She suspected she had him to blame—or thank—for her lack of worry.

  He made her feel . . . safe. Among other things.

  She fought back a whole host of uncomfortable sensations as she shifted upon the bench. She would not think about her time in his bed. It had been a dream. And like a dream, it wasn’t real. Even if a part of her—perhaps a very large part—wished it to be.

  They sat side by side on the bench. She folded her gloved hands in her lap. The duke had draped a great fur blanket over her, declaring her cloak and garments not enough. She had not protested. After very nearly freezing to death, she would take all precautions to avoid a repeat of that.

  The last thing she needed was to end up naked in his bed again.

  Prickles of heat broke out over her body and it didn’t feel like the last thing she needed. It felt like the only thing.

  The duke’s men eyed the trees. Even the duke himself kept vigilant, assessing their surroundings.

  “You’re worried,” she pronounced.

  He glanced at her. “Merely cautious.”

  She looked about slowly, searching as though she might find a menacing face in the nearby branches.

  “’Tis unlikely they would strike in the daylight. Or attack a party of this size. They are not highwaymen,” he reminded her. “They typically thieve empty homes.”

  Snow fell softly over them, lightly dusting her blanket and his garments.

  “Here we are,” he declared, stopping before a stout hedge of holly. The other riders pulled up, as well, waiting nearby.

  He hopped to the ground and walked around to lift her down. Then he plucked a basket from the back of the cart, handed it to her, and removed a basket for himself. There was a lightness to his step as they approached the hedge.

  He offered her a pair of shears and she accepted them, careful that her gloved fingers not brush his. Looping the basket handle over her arm, she managed to start snipping holly and dropping it in the basket.

  “I’m surprised holly gathering falls among your priorities, Your Grace.”

  He stopped abruptly and looked at her in such a way that she knew her formal address of him rankled.

  “Sinclair,” she amended.

  “It’s important tae Mrs. Benfiddy. She still expects the house trimmed accordingly for Christmas, brigands or no brigands.”

  Her lips twitched. “So you’re afraid of your housekeeper?”

  “Should I not be? She wields a great deal of power. One word from her and I cease tae have fresh linens on my bed and warm kippers on my plate in the mornings.”

  Annis giggled. “Except, you are her employer.”

  Smiling, he shrugged. “I inherited her right along with the keep. She’s no’ going anywhere.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “She’s legacy, then.”

  “Indeed. Practically raised me after my parents died.”

  As he was a duke, she had assumed his father was deceased in order for him to inherit the title, but she knew nothing of the rest of his family. She fell silent for a moment, feeling sudden pity. Here he was, essentially an orphan, and she had so much family that she was coming up with ways to escape them.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “The cholera pandemic that took my parents also took my sister.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling awful and selfish. What must he have thought of her when she told him she wanted to be a nun for the solitude and peace? He, who lost his family.

  “It happened a long time ago,” he replied, snipping a bit of holly and dropping it in his basket. “Christmastime, in fact. Twenty years ago.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze scanned the red holly berries, a quintessential reminder of Christmas. “This must be a difficult time of year for you, then.”

  Sinclair shrugged, not denying the charge. “We carry on. That is what the living do. We live even when those we love do no’. We can only remember them and honor them.”

  He sounded so very practical. Wise, but also . . . cold. Detached. “Still. It could not have been easy,” she remarked.

  His gaze slid to hers. “What do you want me tae say? That I cried myself tae sleep for years? I did. That I wanted tae weep at Christmas without them? Aye. I did.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes still do.”

  She blinked at that admission . . . at this vulnerable side to him she could never have imagined existed.

  Snipping more holly, he went on, “But I owe it tae my family tae live the best life I can.”

  Stilling, she stared at him for a long moment, seeing him as if for the first time. He was thoughtful and brave and strong. Not at all what she imagined when she was sprawled in an ignominious pile in his courtyard as he unceremoniously ordered her family to leave. And now she could not unknow this information about him. She could not unsee it as she looked at him. Blast it. He was not only attractive. He was likable.

  Forcing herself back to action, she snipped a sprig of holly and tucked it inside her hood, behind her ear. Immediately the aroma of holly berries filled her nose. “I’m sure they are looking down at you with pride.”

  “You’re so certain, are you?”

  He sounded less than convinced. “Of course. You’re a good man.” She seized his arm and squeezed, hoping to convey this to him.

  He held her stare. Everything seemed to melt away as she looked into his eyes and wondered if, perhaps, it was excusable to kiss this man. To do the things she had done with him again and maybe more since he was undeniably likable.

  He was leaning so close now. She was certain he was going to kiss her.

  And she was certain she would let him.

  His deep voice rumbled between them. “Still want tae be a nun, Miss Ballister?”

  “Why do you ask?” she breathed.

  “Kissing a man isn’t exactly nun behavior.” His gaze skimmed her face, pausing on the sprig of holly tucked behind her ear. He touched the tiny plant and then his gloved thumb extended to her cheek in a slow drag of leather. Her skin sprang to gooseflesh.

  “Oh.” She lifted her face a fraction higher, placing her lips closer to his. “And do you still find Christmas so objectionable?”

  His voice husked over her mouth. “I might be developing a fondness for it.”

  Suddenly an explosion sounded near her and she was flattened to the ground, the snow cold at her chest, the great weight of him over her, pushing her down.

  Shouts from the duke’s men erupted all around them. It was madness. Feet pounded. Gunfire popped all around them. The duke cursed near her ear, lifting his head to peer around.

  “Keep your head down.” Seizing her hand, he dragged her, pulling her to the side of the wagon, where they were better shielded. He pulled a pistol out from his greatcoat.

  “Seamus,” he called, motioning to one of his nearby men. The bearded man scuttled over to where they hunkered behind the wagon.

  “Aye.” Seamus brandished his own weapon.

  Calder nodded at her. “I want you tae take the lass and get her tae the keep.”

  “What?” she gasped, grabbing his arm. “What of you?”

  He did not even look at her as he addressed Seamus. “I will create a distraction, drawing their fire from you and the lass.”

  “What? No!” He could not remain here where he could be hurt or killed. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the prosp
ect, and she knew then. She knew how very much he mattered to her.

  He uncoiled her fingers from his arm and shoved her at Seamus. “Take the lass. Cut through the woods. Protect her.”

  She grabbed his hand. “No. I’m not leaving you out here to die. We can run for the castle together.”

  Sinclair shook his head, at last looking at her, but in his eyes she read a fierce determination that didn’t bode well.

  He peeled her fingers off him again and gave her a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry. You won’t be rid of me that easily.” With one last look, he was gone, slinking low along the wagon and then around it. She surged to go after him, but Seamus wrapped an arm around her and kept her close to his side.

  Then she heard Calder’s voice boom across the air, his brogue deep and resounding with authority. “I’m the Duke of Sinclair, Laird of Glencrainn.”

  The gunfire ceased.

  “That’s our prompt.” Seamus lifted her to her feet and pulled her into the trees and toward the castle as Calder continued to talk. His voice faded to an echo as they broke through the thick branches. She struggled to go back, to make certain he was safe.

  “Come, miss. Don’t make this any worse. Move yer feet. Ye want the laird fretting for ye? He’ll manage just fine. Now let’s see ye tae safety.”

  A fervent prayer passed her lips as she obeyed Seamus and forced her legs to move. Calder would be fine. He would not be harmed. He would not be harmed. Her heart did not cease to twist in her chest even as this plea rolled over and over in her head.

  The guards at the gates were ready for them when they arrived at the castle, no doubt hearing the report of firearms. They quickly let Annis and Seamus and two other of the duke’s men inside. The rest of their party remained in the woods with the brigands. A fact that made her sick. She paced a short line in the courtyard, feeling utterly helpless, still angry at herself for leaving Calder and angry at Calder for making her go. She wanted to grab a weapon and charge back out there. If he died, she would never forgive herself. Or him.

  Mrs. Benfiddy appeared and motioned her to move inside the great hall. “Come, Miss Ballister. Let’s get ye warm within.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll stay here until Sinclair returns.”

  The housekeeper frowned. “Dinna fash over the laird. He’ll be fine, lass.”

  “We never should have gone out there.”

  Mrs. Benfiddy approached, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Aye, well ’e thought ye might enjoy an outing and these brigands usually strike dwellings at night. Pickings must have gotten thin for them tae attack in daylight.”

  “He thought I might enjoy an outing?” She looked askance at the woman. “I thought you asked him to fetch more holly.”

  “Aye, so that ye could spend a bit of time together.”

  Annis closed her eyes in a pained blink. “So your matchmaking is the reason we went outside the castle?”

  “Och, I’m no matchmaker. Dinna confuse me with Fenella. I merely saw the lad pining for yer company, so I gave him a reason tae see ye.”

  Pining for her company? Could that be true? She didn’t have the time to digest that. She could only look to the gates, hoping they would open to reveal him safe and hale. She called to the men on the ramparts. “Do you see him?”

  Lifting her skirts, she marched over to one of the ladders leading up to the parapet, ready to look for herself.

  Suddenly there was gunfire directly outside the gates. Men atop the ramparts released fire down below.

  “Calder.” She breathed his name, uttering it like a prayer, and started climbing up the rungs.

  “Miss Ballister, what are ye doing?” Mrs. Benfiddy called after her. “Get back ’ere!”

  She was halfway up the ladder, ignoring the housekeeper, when the command to open the gates roared from somewhere above her. She froze, watching as the thick wooden doors cracked open and the duke’s men stumbled in.

  Her heart hurt inside her chest, twisting and pumping as she scanned the group for the duke’s familiar form. A moment before the door thudded closed again she spotted him. He staggered through, an arm wrapped around one of his men who was clearly injured.

  She climbed back down the ladder. Dropping to her feet, she surveyed the chaotic scene. Household staff surged forward, mobbing the group.

  Calder snapped orders and servants appeared, quickly attending to the men.

  Even as relieved as she felt, the fear was still there. She’d never felt anything close to it. She felt as though she was not getting enough air into her lungs.

  Her gaze devoured him across the distance, assessing, making certain he wasn’t injured.

  He was accosted by a clucking Mrs. Benfiddy. He stood a good head taller than the housekeeper, and he looked over her, searching the courtyard.

  His gaze landed on Annis and there it stayed. Something flickered in his stormy eyes, speaking to her, pulling at something deep, where her fear lurked.

  With a choked cry, she turned and fled.

  Chapter Eleven

  Annis took refuge in her bedchamber, striding its length and rubbing her hands together as though that would rid her of some of her anxiety. It did little good. Her hands wouldn’t quit shaking. Her fear. Her relief. It was all too much for her to comprehend. The door opened then, and she whirled around.

  He stood there. Her heart took off, wild as a bird set loose from inside her too-tight chest. His eyes fastened on her and she couldn’t move.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she spit out shakily. All of her was shaking. “You shouldn’t have sent me away while you faced those brigands.”

  Everything slowed to a crawl. Blood rushed, a dull roar in her ears. She imagined she could hear the muffled thump of her own heart.

  “What was I tae do?” he asked thickly. “Risk you getting hurt?” He shook his head once, emphatically, and something quivered deep inside her, starting low in her core and spreading throughout her body.

  “You could have died,” she accused, wishing he would stop staring at her in that disconcerting way of his.

  “I’m here,” he responded. “Alive.”

  Indeed he was.

  “I see that,” she whispered, her heart so loud now that she was certain he could hear it.

  Then he slammed the door shut behind him, sealing them in. They moved in unison, coming together.

  Their mouths collided, fused, breaking only for the time it took them to tug their clothes off in a blur of wild motion. Everything was frantic. Desperate. Violent in its ferocity. Her cloak hit the floor followed by his. Her dress was hastily unbuttoned and the sleeves shoved down her arms.

  It was utter madness and totally unlike her. Perhaps it was a release from the turmoil of the day and their near brush with death. Even as the fleeting thought crossed her mind, she knew it was false—a brief attempt at rationalization. This was about need. Desire. Affirmation of life.

  They kissed and kissed and kissed.

  Hot and feverish, tongues warring. It was senseless and wild. There was nothing smooth or civilized about it. It wrecked her.

  He tugged the rest of her bodice down, revealing her corset-covered breasts. She gasped at the brush of chill air on her exposed flesh. His hands grazed over the crests, rough palms abrading the tender skin as his mouth ravaged hers. It wasn’t gentle, but she didn’t want him to be. He didn’t treat her like some fragile piece of crystal, and she reveled in it.

  His hand settled on her right breast, closing over the small mound and squeezing, making her feel like she was the lushest, most beautiful creature in the world.

  He pulled back to untie the laces at the front, his hands shaking a little. Soon her chemise gaped open, exposing her breasts fully to the air—to him. He dipped his head, taking her breast into his mouth. She cried out, her fingers latching on to his head and threading through his hair.

  They sank to the bed, his hard length coming over her. He pulled back, looking down at her, his hand g
liding over her cheek, fingers buried in her hair, scattering pins. He gripped her by the head, kissing her again, his hot mouth consuming hers.

  Her hands dropped to the front of his trousers, eagerly unbuttoning the falls of his breeches to free him. He adjusted to shuck off his jacket and shirt and shove his trousers down his hips.

  She watched, devouring the sight of him, her breathing ragged and harsh between them. They came together again, bare skin slipping sinuously against each other. He pulled the skirts of her gown up to her waist and settled between her thighs. She gasped at the sensation of his hips wedged between her splayed thighs.

  It felt so wicked and so right.

  He kissed her breasts again and she whimpered, arching her spine, offering him more, wanting more. His mouth closed around one nipple, pulling deeply, and she moaned, her fingers clenching on his biceps. He shifted and nudged his manhood directly against her opening.

  She panted, her hands moving to clutch the back of his neck, clinging, straining against him, pulling him closer as she rotated her hips, needing him inside her.

  “Annis? Are you sure?”

  Yes, yes, yes. This would be all she would have of him once the snow melted and she was gone from here. For now she would embrace this. Hunger. Raw desire. Calder.

  Gasping, she rolled her hips and pushed up against him. “I want to. I want you, Calder.”

  His eyes gleamed fiercely. She looked down between them, watching as he took himself in hand, gripping his hard member and guiding it inside her. Her mouth parted on a cry, fascinated and aroused by the sight.

  Calder wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her closer, holding her steady as he sank inside her. His eyes locked with hers.

  It was an unreal moment, staring into his eyes, feeling his body joining with hers, filling her with a burn that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

  She wiggled, her body stretching to accommodate him. Choking little breaths escaped her as she molded to fit him.

  “You’re so bloody tight,” he hissed, pulling her closer and mashing her breasts to his chest as his manhood pulsed deep inside her. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him for all she was worth. Squirming beneath him, she gasped into his mouth as shards of pleasure spiked out from where they were joined.