Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) by Angeline Fortin (whitelam books .TXT) 📗

But when he entered her the second time, her cries were deep in her heart. The joining so poignant, Al knew she would never forget the moment she surrendered everything to him. She’d felt raw, exposed. He had stripped her bare to the core.

She was his. A part of her always would be.

It was a thrilling and distressing thought.

He’d had his quick fuck just as he’d promised because for all his talk about the ways of the rake versus the rogue, they were one and the same.

The end for them was near.

She’d known it the instant she’d awoken in that big, well-used bed alone.

That’s just the way it was.

*

“What else?”

Keir pinched his nose as his new steward, Stewart Neville, slid another sheet of parchment across the desk.

“Sign at the bottom here, Your Grace. Just one more and I will have the transferences filed this afternoon. I’ll see to it myself.”

“Thank ye, Neville. Ye’ve been a great help.”

“My pleasure to serve you, Your Grace.”

Cringing at the title, he wanted to snap at the man not to call him that. To announce to the world that Hugh was alive and well. All morning he heard the condolences from staff and retainers, read them from clan members and tenants close enough to have already heard the news. More would come.

He was tired of this farce already, but what choice did he have? The truth couldn’t come out. Even if it could, Al had assured him there was no way to retrieve Hugh from the future.

And hence his own was thoroughly fucked.

He’d only been able to maintain his sanity throughout this entire ordeal by clinging to what Al offered him. Intrigue, excitement. That ever-present distraction that had so irked him a week past but now he sought like a lifeline.

After last night, she was more of a distraction than ever. If her appearance through that wormhole had turned his world upside down, their lovemaking had sent it into mayhem. She’d floored him with her passion. He was stunned by how profoundly he’d been affected as well.

Something he accredited to his genuine fondness of her person.

None of his previous lovers had sparked the honest affection he’d felt for her right from the beginning. No, that wasn’t right. It hadn’t really been until she stared him down in his library that day. Wallowing in her own filth for days on end and forcing him to take the responsibility for it. She hadn’t backed down then.

She hadn’t really since.

Aye, for a wee slip of a lass who claimed to be adverse to confrontation, she pushed him mercilessly. Challenged him endlessly. He loved it. There was no other person he longed to talk to more. Every minute spent in the company of others made him impatient for hers. Neville was a fine example.

His impatience to be away and seek her out had him tapping his foot peevishly.

In his life, he’d not been so eager for a person’s company. Not even Hugh’s. Beyond his colleagues and collaborators, he had few true friendships in his life. Idle chatter bored him. And like Hugh, his relations with his family were not the strongest in his life.

He’d never before realized that in a life surrounded by people, one could have been so alone. Three brothers he had and yet he’d been lonely. Even Hugh had never delved as deeply to find the real him.

Yet, Al had waltzed into his life and in a short time had become a friend unlike any other. With her, he’d been able to find solace in the arms of another, something he’d not known since his mother died. He’d also found the challenge and intellectual stimulation of his mentors and contemporaries, the camaraderie of his cousin all combined in the body of a courtesan.

Now there was even more to look forward to.

Al as his lover.

“There is one last thing, Your Grace,” Neville said, recalling him from his reverie and sliding a large parchment across the desk. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bottom of the page bearing a large red seal with a gold ribbon pinned beneath it.

“What is this?”

“A proclamation from the king, Your Grace. It arrived by special messenger this morning.”

“And ye dinnae think tae lead wi’ this?” he said irritably, drawing the paper closer.

“In all honesty, Your Grace,” the steward pushed out of his chair and stood, “I thought it best to complete our other work before you saw it. You’d be in no mood for any of it after reading this.”

Curious, he scanned the first few lines. His eyes widened then narrowed. “That unbelievable bastard.”

“Just so, Your Grace.”

Strong condemnation coming from his Sassenach steward.

He read on. And further on. “He cannae…”

But he had.

With a howl of rage, Keir swept an arm across the desk, scattering everything with a rain of clanks and clatters. It wasn’t enough. A small vase was flung into the fireplace, dissolving into tiny shards of porcelain in a more satisfying explosion as Neville slunk out the door.

Another followed, bigger this time.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Spinning around, he found Al at the door staring at him incredulously. “’Tis better than murder, lass.”

“I guess that would depend on whose,” she said dryly, taking a few steps into the study to retrieve a spilled inkwell from the carpet before the stain spread too far. Breathing heavily, he watched her make her way toward him, picking up a few more things on her way to the desk.

Each time she bent, her long, wavy hair would swing down until she swept it back absently. It was hypnotic, soothing as waves. His explosive rage abated a tad with each sway.

“Is this another example of your temper? I think a few choice words would be less destructive.”

A bitter bark of laughter escaped him. “Sometimes words cannae express copious amounts of anger.”

Her cool gray eyes studied him, thoroughly but warily. “Yes, I can see you’re very angry. Why?”

“’Tis nae ye, lass.”

“Glad to hear it.” The words were