Free Bride of the Black Scot by Elaine Coffman Page A

tear out
his hair. This man was not her betrothed. She knew very well what could happen
to both of them if they went beyond the roles that had already been dictated to
them. But something compelled her to tell this dark and taciturn man how he had
touched her, in a way no man ever had, or ever would. She knew now, with every
breath she drew, that she could not become the bride of the Black Scot, not
even if rejecting him meant losing her father and displeasing the King of
England. Her destiny lay with Stephen Gordon. She knew it. And, God help her,
but she sensed he knew it, too.
    “Would you kiss me?”
    “You are playing with fire, lass.”
    “Please,” she whispered and found herself in his arms. She
closed her eyes, absorbing the heat from a body that was cool to the touch,
feeling the pleasing hardness of him against her softer parts. His face was
mere inches from hers and she trembled like a newborn fawn in anticipation. A
long-restrained cry pulsed from her throat when his mouth closed over hers.
    He had been the first man ever to kiss her. She knew with
all her untutored heart that there would never be another.
    His body was close…so close his warmth became her warmth.
His scent washed over her, the fresh, wild smell of the Highlands, where every
bit of heather, every blade of grass whispered the secret aroma of life. Bathed
in warmth and excitement, she felt a deep sensation of desire begin to swell
within her. She wanted…what, she did not know, but some intuition said he knew…
    “I knew it would be like this,” she whispered. “Make love to
me, Stephen.”
    He groaned. “I canna,” he said. “Not now, not this way.”
    Through a sensuous haze, she looked into his face, seeing
something akin to pain in his eyes. Her heart hammering wildly in her chest,
she could not speak. A sigh of despair and need escaped her. She gave him a
look that said she did not understand.
    He kissed her softly on the lips, his voice coming to her in
a whisper that seemed to caress her flesh. “It isna because I dinna want to,
love. I want you with a fierceness that makes me ache. But I wouldna have
anything come between us. You have been honest with me. I can only be the same
with you. Aye,” he said, his voice laced with pain, “I will make love to you,
and well, but not until I speak what is in my heart. Not until I right a
wrong.”
    Suddenly she was afraid. She knew that look, knew what it
meant. She did not know what horrible thing he had done, what unimaginable deed
he burned to confess. In truth, she did not want to know—for she sensed it
would bring an irrevocable change, driving them apart. She saw the agony in his
face even before she heard it in his voice.
    “This thing between us…”
    “No,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to his lips. Just
this once, her heart cried. Just this one time, and no more. She did not want
to know what he had to tell her…not now, not when she was so close to fulfilling
her dream.
    Reality was her betrothal to someone else. Stephen could
never be hers—not really. She knew that and accepted it. But now, at this
moment, he would be hers.
    “Don’t tell me,” she whispered. “If you don’t say it, it
won’t be true.”
    “Lass, I canna…”
    Tears welling in her eyes, she shook her head. “Not now, not
when everything between us is so beautiful. I will not have you change that,
Stephen. Make love to me,” she whispered. “Make love to me now…and break my
heart afterward.”
    He held her close, whispering her name, covering her face
with kisses. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
    “I cannot.”
    “Aye, you canna, but you will come to regret this.”
    “I will never regret it,” she said. “Never. And neither will
you.”
    “Then God help us both,” he said, his mouth closing over
hers in a soft and gentle mating. He backed her up against a tree, kissing her
deeply, his knee coming between her legs. He kissed her with agonizing
tenderness, his hips