Read Online Devil Black by Laura Strickland - Free Book Online Page A

to take her upstairs.
    Afterwards, the witnesses, the bride, and the groom all signed the parchment O’Rourke produced. Dougal stared at her name—Isobel Maitland—and thought, with a staggering wave of possessiveness: Isobel MacRae now. She is mine.
    By the time all was finished, the hour ran late. Meg retired, and Lachy began plying O’Rourke with whisky. Dougal knew they would sit by the fire till dawn.
    Upstairs, a bed waited. He turned to his wife. “It is done.”
    She nodded. All the color had flown from her face, but her eyes burned.
    He said, “Shall we complete the night’s work?”
    She looked at him with something like wonder. Did it only now occur to her, the step she had taken? Would she whine and weep?
    But she nodded again. He offered her his arm, and they climbed the stone stairs to her chamber. No need of a guard, this night.
    He closed the door and stood, trying to control his desire.
    She turned and looked at him. “We must speak.”
    “Aye, later. After.”
    “That will be too late.”
    He saw her bosom rise as she struggled to breathe. Aye, well, most women about to be plundered experienced some fear, especially those gently bred. He would get her past it.
    He unlaced his tunic, shrugged out of it, shot his sleeves and hauled open his shirt. Her eyes widened.
    “You said you would not force me.”
    “And I shall not.” He approached her carefully, as one might a skittish pony, reached out, and captured her face between his hands. He could see her pulse stir the lace at her throat.
    His eyes swept her for an instant before he bent his head and kissed her, intending to keep it gentle and ease her into offering herself to him. He—they both—had felt the heat that simmered. He need only tap into that, then ride her till dawn.
    Aye, he meant to be gentle, but the instant his lips met hers that fire came leaping. His mouth turned savage on hers and all the sense in his head burned away.
    A fire like this could consume them both.
    For a glorious instant, they both hung on the point of flame. Then she drew away and uttered one word: “Please!”
    His hands, already at work, had slid beneath the collar of the green gown, pushing it from her shoulders. He craved the taste of her skin and, lovely as the gown was, wanted it off her. With difficulty, he focused on her face.
    “Aye, Lady Wife?”
    She appeared to struggle with some emotion of her own. “I must tell you—before we... You do need to know.”
    “Then speak. I am impatient for you.” And there was a braw understatement. Impatient did not begin to describe his state. Surely she could feel the truth through his kilt and her gown?
    Doubt flickered in her beautiful, dark blue eyes—or perhaps it was fear. “I am not what you think.”
    “No? Are you not beautiful and desirable, and my wife? I care for naught else now.”
    “Is it so? You care not you have married a woman who—”
    “Speak, Wife!”
    Her gaze fell to his lips, then further still, and she paled. “You will discover the truth when we lie together. I am no virgin.”
    Despite his state of double intoxication with whisky and lust, Dougal felt a rush of surprise. Was it so? Would Randal MacNab accept such a bride for his son and heir?
    For an instant he froze, his hands still against the silken skin of her shoulders, his desire raging, yet curiosity whispered to him.
    “How is it, then, MacNab accepted you as suitable?”
    She lifted her eyes to his once more, and he saw pain there, and shame, and hard pride as well. “He did not know. It is a long story.”
    “And no time for it now.”
    “I just thought you should—” She cast a despairing look at the bed.
    Dougal felt a crooked smile tug at his lips. Probably just as well, he thought through the haze that possessed his mind. The way he felt, he had little of the restraint required to pluck a tender virgin.
    “I thank you for your honesty.”
    She drew a breath he felt shudder through her. “It is my hope we