Emma eyed him, growing increasingly suspicious. "My mother never said a word about disrobing. I think I would have remembered that."

It was Jamie's turn to sigh. "Just what did she tell you?"

"She said I was to lie back and close my eyes and the earl"-Emma could not quite suppress her shudder-"my husband husband would simply fold the hem of my nightdress up a few inches-after the lamps were extinguished, of course-and perform his husbandly duty." would simply fold the hem of my nightdress up a few inches-after the lamps were extinguished, of course-and perform his husbandly duty."

"While the idea has its charms, it simply won't do." The callused pads of Jamie's fingertips played lightly over her sensitive nape. He lowered his voice to a husky growl, his breath moist and hot in her ear. "Because I'm going to go mad, la.s.s, if I can't see you naked."

This time Emma's shudder was one of desire. "Perhaps you could coax me into taking my gown off. If you put forth your best effort."

His throaty chuckle warned her that was just the challenge for which he had been waiting. Lifting the weight of her hair with one hand, he ever so gently laid his seeking lips against the wildly beating pulse at the side of her throat. Emma gasped. Judging by the scorching sweetness of his lips against her flesh, it must be his intention to melt melt the gown from her body. the gown from her body.

Her head fell back of its own volition, giving his mouth full dominion over the graceful column of her throat. After a few breathless moments of that delicious torment, she was forced to dig her fingernails into his sleeve just to remain upright. "For a brutish Highlander, you've a rather persuasive touch, sir."

"Those fancy English gents are the ones who start all those nasty rumors about us and our sheep. They just don't want their la.s.ses to know what they're missing."

As his tongue swirled around the delicate sh.e.l.l of her ear, making her toes curl with pleasure, she bit back a moan. "Maybe they don't want their sheep to know what they're they're missing." missing."

Jamie's laugh was a deep-throated rumble that warmed her from the inside out. While his mouth was having its way with her ear, his hands were gently easing her gown down to bare one creamy shoulder. Emma was ever so grateful to Muira for gifting her with such a simple gown, not one adorned with slippery pearl b.u.t.tons or rows of sharp, steely hooks. Or painful stays to contain flesh already aching for Jamie's touch.

All it took was a deliberate tug and one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s was freed from the confines of the bodice. Jamie gazed down at her in the moonlight, his expression so dark with hunger it made both her pulse and her stomach flutter. She could feel her nipples begin to swell and throb in antic.i.p.ation of the pleasure she sensed was coming.

That pleasure arrived with a jolt of pure sensation when Jamie leaned down and touched the very tip of his tongue to her. As he laved that pebbled peak with maddening tenderness, then drew it into his mouth, suckling deep and hard, Emma could no longer bite back a moan of raw delight.

She moaned again when he dipped his hand into the other side of her bodice and claimed that breast for his own as well, molding it to his palm and gently squeezing.

How was it possible a man could be possessed of so many hands? One of them had taken advantage of her breathless distraction to work its way beneath her skirt. Even now it was sliding between her knees and up, up, up until it brushed the silky curls between her thighs.

As Jamie closed his hand over her as if she no longer belonged to herself, but to him, Emma shook her head, nearly mute with shock. "But my mother never-"

Jamie withdrew his other hand from her bodice to lay it over her mouth, his eyes sparkling with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Would it be possible for you not to mention your mother again, sweeting? During lovemaking most men find that something of a... distraction."

As he removed his hand, Emma laughed. "You'd have found her instructions for discouraging a woman's husband from seeking her company in the bedchamber even more... distracting."

Jamie surprised her by leaning down and kissing the very tip of her nose before lowering his mouth to hers once again. His lips slanted over hers, encouraging her to open wider for him, to welcome him deeper as his tongue began to take her mouth in a rhythm that was both carnal and irresistible. Before long they were breathing as one, her every sigh becoming one with his own.

Only then did his seeking fingers breach those curls between her thighs, finding a silk that was even hotter and slicker beneath them. He trapped her helpless whimper between his lips, his deft fingertips coaxing the tender petals of her body open like some exotic flower ripe with the sweetest and thickest of nectars.

Emma had never known such pleasure was possible. She was torn between clenching her thighs tightly together to ease the growing ache between them and letting them fall apart so Jamie could do it. But his touch only deepened the ache and before long her breath was coming in fierce little pants.

Ignoring the fact that she was already grinding herself against his palm in a frenzy of need, he stroked and petted and fondled her slick, swollen flesh as if there was nothing else in the world he would rather do and he had all night to do it. Just when she thought his exquisite torture couldn't possibly get any more diabolical, he began to brush the pad of his thumb over the hooded little nub at the crux of her curls in maddening circles. Even as he did so, his longest finger slid lower, dipping gently once, twice, a third time before delving deep inside of her.

His name broke from her lips on a sob as Emma's body erupted in one long, glorious, blinding shudder of rapture.

The second she could see and breathe and move again, she dropped to a sitting position and tugged off her boots.

"What are you doing?" he asked, clearly alarmed.

"Rewarding your efforts," she replied, peeling off her stockings.

"Oh, I was just getting started," he warned as she returned to her knees and drew her gown over her head.

Tossing it aside, she boldly faced him, knowing she must look like the most shameless of hoydens kneeling before him with her hair tumbling every which way and her cheeks and b.r.e.a.s.t.s still flushed from the pleasure he had given her. But any fear that Jamie might find her lacking was dispelled by the mingled l.u.s.t and adoration in his eyes as he gazed upon her naked body for the first time.

"You're so fine," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, his eyes slowly devouring every inch of her. "You don't deserve this. You deserve a grand bed carved o' the finest mahogany. And mountains o' feather pillows. And candlelight. And silk sheets. And-"

It was her turn to lay her fingers across his lips. "I may deserve every one of those things. But all I want is you."

He reached for her then, crushing her naked softness against him as if he could somehow make them one with the sheer pa.s.sion of his embrace. He was hard where she was soft, unyielding and angled where she was gently curved. Emma twined her fingers through his hair and buried her face against his throat, surprised to feel the sting of tears in her eyes. He smelled like woodsmoke and spring rain and the wind blowing through the pines on a cold winter's night. He smelled like a freedom she had never known before this night.

"So what must I do to coax you into taking off your clothes?" she murmured, dusting the broad column of his throat with her kisses.

He gently set her away from him, a rakish grin curving his lips. "You, my lady, have only to ask."

Before Emma had time to catch her breath, he had divested himself of shirt, stockings and boots. She might have perished from mortification as he reached for the leather laces of his breeches if she hadn't noticed that his hands were less than steady.

As he peeled off his breeches and rose back to his knees, Emma's curiosity quickly overcame her maidenly shyness. His was a beautiful body-sleek and taut and masculine, even more thickly muscled than she had imagined.

Unable to resist the temptation, she reached out and trailed a hand over his chest, marveling at the havoc her touch was wreaking on him. Despite the chill in the air he was sweating, his brawny body coated with a glistening sheen of perspiration. Encouraged by the glazed look in his eye, the uneven hitch in his breath, her hand wandered lower-skating over the incredibly well-defined muscles of his abdomen-then lower still, closing gently over the part of him that was jutting forward as if begging for her touch.

He threw back his head with a guttural groan.

Emma's surge of desire was matched by a surge of delight. He no longer held all the power. She had power over him now, the power to bend him to her will, both literally and figuratively; to mold him with her palm and watch him lengthen and swell even further, although she would have sworn that wasn't even possible. As she drew her hand along his rigid shaft, a single drop of seed-like the most rare and precious of pearls-welled up from its velvety crown to dampen her fingertips.

"You once told me it hurt," she reminded him solemnly, her gaze flicking to his face.

"Aye, la.s.s," he replied, panting out the words between clenched teeth. "'Tis the sweetest pain I've ever known."

They both knew there was only one way to alleviate his suffering. As he eased her down on the blanket and covered her, shielding her from the moonlight, she realized she had brought him to this place because his was the only shadow she was seeking, the only darkness to which she was willing to surrender herself.

She clung to him, trembling with both antic.i.p.ation and terror. She was going to do it. She was going to let him inside of her-where no man had ever been before.

He rubbed the heavy ridge of his arousal between her legs, laving himself in the rich cream his caresses had coaxed from her body. As she felt those delicious little tremors begin to dance over her flesh once more, she feared he was seeking to prolong her torment. But when she felt his thickness probing the entrance to her body, she understood it wasn't his intention to leave her wanting at all but to give her everything she was aching for. And more.

So very much more.

She dug her fingernails into his back as her untried body fought to accept him. She tensed and bit her lip to keep from crying out when she felt a painful tearing sensation. But he did not relent until his throbbing length was sheathed deep within her.

"I'm sorry, angel," he whispered, touching his lips to her sweat-dampened brow. "Hesitating would have only prolonged the pain."

"Mine or yours?" she quipped, letting him know she was going to survive.

His big body shuddered with something that might have been laughter in a less urgent moment. "Both."

As he began to move within her, sipping tenderly from her lips all the while, the pain faded to a dull throb that only sharpened her awareness of the incredible intimacy of what they were doing. She was truly his captive now. There was no escaping him. He surrounded her. He enfolded her. He made her every breath she drew his own, her every wish one only he could fulfill. It was almost as if there was no part of her he was not touching-including her soul.

When he abruptly stopped, she wanted to weep with disappointment.

She opened her eyes to find him peering down at her, his expression quizzical. "Emma? Sweeting? Is there something wrong? Why are you being so still? Is the pain too great for you to bear?"

"My moth-" She clamped her mouth shut and began again. "I was informed informed that if I wriggled a bit beneath the earl, his exertions would be over that much more quickly. So I thought if I stayed completely still..." that if I wriggled a bit beneath the earl, his exertions would be over that much more quickly. So I thought if I stayed completely still..."

She trailed off, allowing him to draw the obvious conclusion.

When he did, a strangled laugh escaped him. "You may wriggle all you like, la.s.s. I'm still going to make this last for as long as I can. Of course, given how incredibly tight and hot and wet you are"-he gritted his teeth against a fresh groan as she gave her hips an experimental shimmy-"that may not be nearly as long as either one of us would like."

With that warning, Jamie began to rock against her, setting an irresistible rhythm she had no choice but to follow. Soon she was arching her back, lifting her hips to draw him even deeper inside of her. He rewarded her boldness by angling his own hips so that each downward stroke brought him into direct contact with that exquisitely sensitive little bud nestled in her damp nether curls. With each tantalizing stroke, he made good on his promise to both seduce and ravish her.

He must have felt her begin to shiver and clench around him.

"Come with me, Emmaline," he growled. "Come for me."

And then she was-in shudder after shudder of raw bliss that sent her soaring over that precipice of ecstasy once again. But this time she would not fall alone. Jamie surrendered to his own plunge over that precipice with a m.u.f.fled roar, withdrawing from her just in time to spill his hot seed over her belly.

JAMIE AWOKE BEFORE SUNRISE with Emma cradled in his arms, much as he had on the morning after he had abducted her. But this time there was one major difference-neither one of them was wearing any clothes. with Emma cradled in his arms, much as he had on the morning after he had abducted her. But this time there was one major difference-neither one of them was wearing any clothes.

And a delightful difference it was, Jamie thought, burying his nose in her sweet-smelling curls. Although his arousal was already nudging the softness of her rump in a shameless bid for attention, he was loathe to wake her and put an end to this moment.

He traced the graceful slope of her hip with his palm. After living so long in this rugged land, it was still difficult to believe anything could be so soft, so impossibly silky to the touch. How was he supposed to send her back to the Hepburn in a few hours when all he wanted to do was spend the rest of the day kissing each of the freckles scattered like nutmeg over the glowing alabaster of her skin?

He ought to be celebrating. He had triumphed over his enemy once again. Emma would never belong to the Hepburn. But the satisfaction he had antic.i.p.ated was blunted by a jagged edge of desperation. Because she would never belong to him either. These few stolen hours between midnight and dawn were all he would ever have of her.

When she had come to him last night he would have agreed to almost anything just for the chance to hold her in his arms this way. But he'd been a fool to believe he could love her for one night, then let her go without her taking a sliver of his splintered heart with her.

He had already spent much of the night teetering on the edge of disaster. Each time he had made love to her, it had been nearly impossible to force himself to withdraw from her tight, silky sheath when he really wanted to spill his seed deep within her, to mark her as his own in a way that neither the Hepburn nor the rest of the world would ever be able to deny. But he'd been driven to honor their bargain. It was bad enough to send her back to England in disgrace without risking sending her back with his b.a.s.t.a.r.d in her belly.

If Gordon Hepburn hadn't been so careless in such matters, Lianna Sinclair might be alive today. Jamie wasn't about to make the same mistakes his father had made. As far as he was concerned, the man had been every inch a Hepburn, seeing what he wanted and then taking it with no thought whatsoever to the cost or the consequences. Jamie had spent his entire life seeking to prove it was Sinclair blood that ran through his veins. He would never be a Hepburn. He would never be his father. He wasn't greedy or selfish enough to ask Emma to risk her own life just so she could share his.

She didn't belong with the likes of him. She belonged in some cozy rose arbor in Lancashire taking tea with her sisters with a cat curled up in her lap and a book in her hand. The Hepburn had taken her away from all that but it was within his power to send her back where she belonged. She could live out the rest of her life in comfort and safety, far away from ancient feuds and their terrible casualties.

She stirred, pressing her rounded little bottom against him. The musky scent of their lovemaking lingered on her skin, making him feel positively savage with the desire to possess her again.

"Don't fret, la.s.s," he whispered in her ear. "'Tis a state men often find themselves in when they awaken."

"Mmmm... I'm so glad to know it has absolutely nothing to do with me. Do you realize this is exactly how we woke up the first time I slept in your arms?"

"The thought had occurred to me. But there is one wee difference."

Tightening his grip, he slid up and into her from behind, sheathing himself all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion.

She shuddered and arched against him. "Forgive me for quibbling, sir," she gasped out, "but I don't believe anyone could call that 'wee.'"

He captured her pert nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and gently tugged. "Does that mean I'm strapping enough for you, la.s.s, as lovers go?"

She nodded her breathless a.s.sent. "I do believe Brigid was wrong. You must be twice the man Angus and Malcolm could ever hope to be."

Closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair, Jamie began to move deep within her, determined to stave off the dawn for as long as he could. "And I have you to thank for letting me prove it."

Chapter Twenty-four.

JAMIE WAS ALREADY MOUNTED astride his horse when Emma emerged from the ruins of the abbey. With perverse timing, the sun had chosen to make its first appearance in days, burning off the last of the mist and coaxing a hopeful serenade of birdsong from the budding branches of the surrounding birches and aspens. astride his horse when Emma emerged from the ruins of the abbey. With perverse timing, the sun had chosen to make its first appearance in days, burning off the last of the mist and coaxing a hopeful serenade of birdsong from the budding branches of the surrounding birches and aspens.

But the slanting rays of the morning sun failed to warm him. Despite the crisp white clouds drifting across the dazzling blue of the sky, a chill had settled deep in his bones, making him feel as if winter lurked just over the southern horizon instead of spring.

He sat motionless in the saddle, watching Emma cross the clearing. Muira's cloak was draped over her shoulders. She had used the leather thong he had given her to neatly bind her unruly curls at the nape just as she'd used the water he had warmed over the fire for her to wash his scent from her skin.

Unlike the abbey lying in rubble behind her, she did not look ruined to him. Her freckled cheeks were flushed, her lips still slightly swollen from his loving, her eyes slumberous. She looked gloriously... unruined unruined. Jamie felt a smoldering fury that society would now deem her less worthy of their regard. They would consider her sullied by his touch, when she was glowing from within like something so fine and precious it hurt his eyes just to look at her.

He had taunted her once by telling her the Hepburn would probably insist that she be examined by a physician to determine if she was still worthy to be his bride. Now the thought of some stranger putting his hands on her, even for such a dispa.s.sionate purpose, made Jamie want to smash something with his fists.

As she approached the horse, she glanced around the deserted clearing, her expression troubled. "Where are Bon and the rest of the men?"

"They've been waiting at the meeting place since before dawn. You won't see them. And with any luck, neither will the Hepburn's men."

He offered her a hand, both of them knowing it was the last time he would ever do so.

As she settled herself in the saddle behind him, slipping her slender arms around his waist, Jamie had never been so keenly aware of the cold, heavy weight of his pistol against his belly. Or of the centuries of hatred and violence that had brought them to this place.

For one wild, desperate moment, all he wanted to do was kick the horse into a gallop and ride as fast and far as he was able, to whisk her away to some distant haven where the Hepburn could never find them. But he wasn't as naive or foolhardy as his parents had been.

He knew there was no outrunning fate and nowhere he could flee to escape his own destiny.

AS JAMIE AND EMMA rode into the mouth of the long, narrow glen from the north, the cheerful chirping of the birds in the surrounding trees seemed to mock them. Jamie had chosen the place for the exchange with deliberate care. Birds weren't the only creatures sheltered by the lush green boughs of the cedars flanking the glen on both east and west. His own men were tucked away there as well, their pistols and bows c.o.c.ked and held at the ready. If they spotted any sign of treachery, they would be able to fire before the Hepburn's men could even draw their weapons, then flee back into the hills without leaving a trace. rode into the mouth of the long, narrow glen from the north, the cheerful chirping of the birds in the surrounding trees seemed to mock them. Jamie had chosen the place for the exchange with deliberate care. Birds weren't the only creatures sheltered by the lush green boughs of the cedars flanking the glen on both east and west. His own men were tucked away there as well, their pistols and bows c.o.c.ked and held at the ready. If they spotted any sign of treachery, they would be able to fire before the Hepburn's men could even draw their weapons, then flee back into the hills without leaving a trace.

Jamie was not surprised to see half a dozen of the Hepburn's burliest henchmen sitting on horses strung out across the gentle rise in the land at the south end of the glen. They were simply obeying his own instructions to the Hepburn not to allow them to come any closer.

But he was surprised to find Ian Hepburn himself sitting straight and tall on the back of a chestnut gelding at the very heart of the glen, his dark hair blowing in the wind. With his snowy white cravat and handsome mulberry-colored frock coat, he might have been on his way to take tea with a d.u.c.h.ess instead of delivering a ransom.

Jamie had expected the Hepburn to send his latest gamekeeper, not his nephew. This was a development he hadn't antic.i.p.ated, one that upped the stakes in an already dangerous game.

He and Ian had spent too much time fighting on the same side, even if it was only against the bullies at St. Andrews. Despite the casual disdain of his bearing, Ian had to know Jamie would never march into battle without his men. He would have already guessed there were unseen pistols trained on his heart and that if anything went wrong, he would be the first to die.

Jamie flicked a tense glance toward the trees, silently praying his men would use every ounce of the restraint he had tried to teach them.

He drew his own horse to a halt a healthy distance from where Ian sat waiting for him. He dismounted, then reached back up to lift Emma from the saddle.

"Wait here," he commanded her, his hands lingering against the gentle curve of her waist. "If anything goes wrong, run for that line of trees as fast and as hard as you can. Find Bon. He'll look after you."

She nodded. Judging by the solemn expression in her dusky blue eyes, she understood exactly what he was telling her.

And what he was not telling her.

He gazed down into those eyes, keenly aware that their every move was being scrutinized by both allies and enemies. Swallowing back all of the things he wanted to say, he gave her one last nod, then turned and began to walk toward Ian's horse.