The Highlander's Sin (11 page)

“I’m the best sword fighter in my crew. Prepare to say goodbye to the lassie.”
The outlaw nodded emphatically, truly believing his own words.

“Well, I canna say that anyone has called me the best at sword fighting, but I’ve never walked away the loser.” Duncan twirled his sword one more time before lifting it and tapping the tip to the outlaw’s.

That made the outlaw grit his teeth, but despite this outward anger, the man couldn’t hide the tremble in his hands, his true feelings and weakness.

Duncan
pushed the tip of his sword on the ground and with his free hand waved the man forward. They circled one another. As Duncan came round to seeing the ledge in view again, he saw the other men of the outlaw’s camp crossing. No way in hell was he going to put his back to them again. He lunged forward, lifting his sword up and smacking it against the other man’s dull blade.

The blow jarr
ed the man. Perhaps he hadn’t thought it would be coming so soon or with such force. All the same, he parried. Duncan pushed him backward toward the ledge and his friends. He didn’t even have to use half his skill to take down the witless sop.

Once
the other man’s feet teetered on the edge of the ledge, Duncan grinned cruelly and pushed. The man flew backward, tunneling into his comrades, three of them tumbling into the water below.

One clung on for life.

“All your friends are gone, mate. Ye might consider running.” Duncan rested the blade of his sword casually on his shoulder.

The rotter
quivered in his flimsy boots but still shook his head.

“Truly? I’m only going to toss ye into the water.”

The man looked at Duncan, then flicked his jittery gaze to the water below. With a shocking move, he leapt into the current.

“What the hell?” Duncan muttered
, watching the man drift down toward his friends.

“What happened?” Heather asked.

“The bastard jumped.” Duncan’s voice was filled with confusion and amazement that the man had jumped to his death rather than deal with Duncan head-on.

She giggled, nervously
, sounding near on the verge of hysteria. “I guess fighting the current was a better option than fighting ye.”

“I suppose he was only being intelligent. Might have been the smartest of the whole damn group.”

Duncan stared after the disappearing crew for a few moments longer and then turned back around to face Heather. She stood against the wall, still pale in the face but her eyes no longer filled with fear.

“Thank ye,” she said, her lashes fluttering as she looked toward the ground and then back up at him.

Duncan’s stomach tightened. He liked her a little too much. Time to get that out of his mind.

“I was only saving my own arse,” he growled.

Heather startled, the small curve of smile that had formed on her kissable lips fading into an angry frown. Good. When he’d started considering keeping her for himself rather than handing her over, Duncan had known he was creating a mess of things, known his need for revenge would not be completed.

“The proper response when one is thanked is,
ye’re
welcome,” she retorted.

Duncan stormed forward. Inches from her, he lowered his face so their eyes were locked, an intimidating stance he saved for those he wished to frighten into submission.
Heather only straightened taller, squaring her damn shoulders.

“I’m not the proper kind,” he bit out.

“I noticed.” Heather’s voice was a little breathy, like she couldn’t quite catch it.

Her gaze roved to his lips and he had a good idea of why she was losing her breath.
When he stared at her lips, he could only think of one thing—kissing. Only sheer force of will kept his eyes glued to hers.

“Och, will ye
attempt to seduce me?” His own voice lowered a notch, all the pent-up battle rage rushing through his blood. He wanted to pin her up against the wall and take it out on her, punish her with a kiss, and more. How far was this feisty little lass willing to let him go?

Heather backed away, ’haps seeing the need darken his eyes.

Duncan tugged her back where she belonged—flush against him. “Ye can pay me for protecting ye, with a kiss.”

“I’m no tart
. I will not pay for your services with my body.” Her words said one thing, but her body said another as she sank against him.

“Fine, then gift me with a kiss in appreciation for saving ye.”

The only response he got was the tilt of her head, a curious glance, and then her lips brushed his.

She
was kissing
him
.

Aye
, he wanted it, but he would have bet his life she’d never do it. He stiffened, unsure what to do. Normally the aggressor, he wasn’t used to a woman’s advances. Heather sank further into him, her trembling hands pressed to his chest, curling into the fabric of his robes. Could she feel the erratic beat of his heart?

And still he couldn’t kiss her back. ’Twas almost like he’d never been kissed by a female in his life, the virgin priest he was supposed to be.

But before she pulled away, he snapped out of whatever shock she’d put him in. He circled his arms around her waist, splayed a hand on her back and lifted her into the air. Duncan pressed his lips firmly to hers, nudging her to tilt her head and part her lips. He claimed her mouth then, showing her what a true kiss was.

His tongue slid over hers, tasting the apple she’d eaten. She was sweeter than fruit, and delicious as hell.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to quit kissing her. Raw and powerful, their passion was genuine. No other woman had kissed him with such wild abandon. Heather gave all of herself in a kiss, and he was more than willing to give her everything, too. But kisses like this one only led to one thing—and before he pinned her to the floor and hiked up her gown, Duncan pulled away.

Panting, they gazed intently into each other’s eyes for the span of several heartbeats.

“A sinful kiss for a virtuous man of the cloth,” Heather murmured.

Duncan chuckled. “A wicked wanton ye are, nay the virtuous virgin I was promised.”

“’Haps a little bit of both.”

“As a priest, I take that as a confession. Now for your penance.”

Chapter Ten

H
eather’s lungs ceased to function, unable to draw breath for at least a hundred heartbeats. Or so it seemed. She’d lost count of how many times the erratic organ beat within. The sound of her blood rushed full through her body, and every nerve tingled.

She’d
kissed
him
.

Not the other way around. This time she
’d been the one seeking out his lips. Her only consolation was that it had been his idea to begin with.

His threat loomed large in the forefront of her mind.
As a priest, I take that as a confession. Now for your penance
. An atonement was the last thing she needed to worry about.

Lungs burning, she finally sucked in a gulp of refreshing air.

“I think it conceivable that since ye’re a priest and ye’ve also sinned, that we call it even.” Heather took a step back, wondering just how he would take her bold words.

Duncan grinned. Not at all what she
’d expected.

“Tell me this, lass, did ye enjoy it?”

She scoffed, backed up another step and crossed her arms over her breasts, flattening them and hiding the evidence of her perky nipples. “Hardly.”

Duncan’s grin widened, a dimple forming in his stubbled cheek. What the hell did he find so funny?

“Then perhaps ye’d allow me to do it again. If we are going to sin, then it had best be pleasurable for us both. No point in sinning if it doesn’t feel good.”

“What kind of priest are ye?”

“Not a very good one.” He winked.

That small movement sen
t a shiver of anticipation rattling through her bones. For shame! Her brothers had warned she’d get herself in trouble…and here she was, flirting with a priest. Nay—worse! Kissing a priest and wishing he’d touch her in inappropriate ways.

Dear God… She was worse than her older sister
, Lorna. Heather winced. That wasn’t very nice of her to think. Lorna was a wonderful, intelligent person. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been seduced by Laird Montgomery when he’d come to buy sheep from their clan. It wasn’t her fault that the devil laird had planted his seed and from it a bairn had been conceived.

Heather would not let the priest plant his seed in her. She shook her head, and Duncan
raised a curious brow. The internal monologue she was brewing must have shown partially on her face.

“Quelling the demons?” he asked, an edge of teasing in his tone.

“There is only one demon here, and ’tis ye.”

The man had the audacity to tilt his head back and laugh uproariously. He clutched his middle as if what she
’d said was the funniest thing he’d heard in all his devil life.

“’Tis not that funny,” Heather grumbled. But her statement only seemed to make him laugh more. “Stop that.” Her voice was filled with the same tone of command she
’d heard the nursemaids use on her nieces and nephews.

Duncan only laughed harder
, swiping at tears that actually gathered in the corners of his dark eyes.

Anger boiled within Heather. She hated when people laughed at her. But this was worse than someone laughing when she tripped, or teasing her over
the latest hair foible. This was him laughing
at
her.

Blinded by her rage, she reacted on impulse
, thrusting her hands out and shoving him backward with all her might. Only thing was, she met with solid muscle, and her arms jammed backward, making her entire body rock off balance.

“Oh,” she cried out, stumbling back.

Too late, Duncan seemed to see what was happening. A collision course no one could avoid, and it was all her fault. He lunged forward as her head ducked under the pounding falls, the water plunging swiftly down on her, demanding that she fall into the choppy waters below. Heather reached out, grappling for anything, feeling the tips of Duncan’s fingers, but he wasn’t fast enough. Her feet skidded, never regaining purchase. What felt like an eternity later, she fell through the air, water sprinkling over her, and then a giant splash as she pounded into the river.

The current took issue with her clothing, sucking her under the cold, watery depths. She flailed her arms, trying desperately to break the surface, but the water nymphs demanded her attention at the bottom of the burn. It was deeper than Heather had surmised. Her feet had yet to touch the bottom, though her face was fully submerged.

What sounded like an explosion came from her left. Duncan? Was that the sound of him plunging into the current?

Fear propelled her to paddle harder. Her lungs burned as though someone
had lit a fire within her.
Dinna breathe. Dinna suck in the water.

Heather blinked under the water, hoping somehow by doing so the murkiness would clear and she’d be able to see if it was in fact Duncan who’d fallen or just the sound of water crashing against the rocks.

A strong kick up, and her head broke the surface. She gulped in a breath of air before the current grabbed hold of her skirts and yanked her back down.

This was what drowning was like. This was what it felt like to die. The water was cool against her skin, soothing, and yet its vicious tug and swirl made her limbs grow weak and exhausted
. Another break through the surface. A second gasp for air, and back down under.

Losing her clothes was the only way she’d be able to save herself.

With frenzied tugs, she yanked at the ties at her back. Just when she thought she had a firm grip, the ties slipped loose of her slowly, numbing fingers.

She clawed at her chest, hoping to rip the gown from her body, but the waterlogged fabric formed some sort of bond, making it unbreakable.
Everything she tried failed. Overcoming this seemed far from reach, impossible.

Heather wanted to scream out her frustration, but doing so would only mean choking down more water.

Dinna give up.

But it seemed hopeless. Heather couldn’t beat the current. Her numerous gowns were dragging her down. Her stubbornness was drowning her.

Dinna give up!

Not yet… Not until she was dead. Heather kicked again, flung out her arms once more and just barely broke the surface. But instead of being dragged back under, she was
hauled into Duncan’s embrace.

“Good God, lass,” he said, his voice filled with fear and relief.

“Duncan,” she croaked, her voice weak, throat raw. She coughed. Her lungs were so tight. Coughs racked her body, water spilling from her lips as her lungs forced out the unwanted invasion.

“
If we’ve a chance of making it to shore, I’ve got to take off at least one of your gowns. Ye’ll drown us both in the kingdom’s supply ye’ve got on.”

Heather managed a weak smile
at his humor. But water sloshing into her mouth prevented her response. Duncan’s powerful legs swirled in the water behind her, an arm anchored around her middle, and he went to work on her ties.

“I’ve got to cut it. Too wet to untie.”

Heather nodded, no longer caring, simply wanting to get out of this wretched water. She was tired…so tired.

Duncan shifted behind her, and then she felt tugging along her back as he cut the gown. She didn’t fear he’d slice her skin, only that his blade wasn’t sharp enough to get the deed done.

Beneath his breath, he cursed her gown, grumbling obscenities that would normally make her laugh, but she was too exhausted to enjoy them. Yawns kept widening her mouth and allowing water to splash inside.

The cutting
must have worked though, because now he was tugging at her sleeve, yanking and jerking. She held her arm out, hoping it would help, but the limb felt so heavy, it was a great feat to lift it a few inches in the water. Duncan barely noticed her weakened state. He went about his mission as though she were as dry as air and weighed no more than a feather.

One gown removed, she felt instantly lighter.

“I’m taking off another.”

His words broached no argument, which was fine with her, because she didn’t care if she came out of
this raging burn naked. As long as she came out.

Overhead
, the clouds rumbled, darkening, perhaps angry that Duncan was going to free her. Was God angry she’d not yet drowned? Was he punishing her for being ungrateful? For leaving her family? For her stubbornness?

“Storm,” she whispered.

“Dinna worry over it.” Once more she was lightened. Duncan, having developed a rhythm in cutting away her wet gowns, was quicker this time. “That ought to do it.”

Thank goodness. She’d only one gown and three chemises left. She only saw one of her gowns drifting a few feet away, and then it was snatched under the water, disappearing from view, as though the angry current would devour the wool instead of her body.

“Lean back against me.”

Heather did as Duncan instructed, resting her head on his shoulder. He kicked up until they were both no longer straight up and down in the water, but at an angle.

“Kick your feet, slow and steady.”

Heather willed her legs into action, matching Duncan’s kicks. He held her around the middle with one arm and used the other to paddle toward the shore.

It seemed like every foot of progress they made, the water hauled them back a few inches. The shore was so close. Maybe six feet away, and yet it felt as though they’d never arrive, doomed to repeat this motion forever.

“Come now, princess, ye’ve got it. Keep your faith alive.”

Heather prayed silently or aloud, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was she was asking God to please, please not let them drown. She clutched Duncan’s arm around her waist, holding on for dear life.

At last they reached the shoreline, but it was at least a foot or two up. They’d have to climb. Not such a big deal normally, but the water was still quite deep, and Heather was so exhausted. Duncan grasped ahold of an exposed tree root, holding them still in the water.

“I need ye to be strong, lass. Grab hold of the root.”

Heather swallowed around the burning in her throat and nodded
. Slowly unraveling her fingers from his arm, she turned in his embrace and gripped the root with both hands. Duncan stared down at her, his brow wrinkled with worry and concentration.

“I’m going to push ye up from your legs. Brace your feet on the sides of the embankment. Hold on
to the root and walk your fingers up its length, and your feet up the side, until ye feel comfortable pulling yourself over the side.”

Comfortable? She was certain that was not how she’d feel at all. Determined, aye.

Water dripped from his hair, over his temples, and even from the tip of his nose. Was there anything Duncan couldn’t do?

“Did ye hear me, Heather?”

His voice jarred her from staring. “Aye.”

“Do it now.”

Heather braced her feet on the sides of the bank, praying no snakes were making their homes in burrows dug out in the dirt around the root. It they were there, she willed them to ignore the need to retaliate at her invasion.

Duncan slid his arm from around her waist
, and she cried out in fear.

“Climb.” He shoved against her rear, his palm flat on her buttock
s—enough to make her scurry into action.

The root was slippery
, but she willed herself to hang on, to keep pushing forward. To not think about snakes, or pain, or the warm hand shoving against her nether region.

“Almost there.” Duncan’s voice sounded strained.

The woods came into view, and for a moment she panicked, expecting to see a horde of enemies waiting there to lop off their heads, but the woods were empty, save for a few squirrels and birds. Heather took a deep, unwavering breath and let go of the root with one hand to grab at the dry knots of the tree’s roots upon the ground.

“I’ve got hold of a tree root,” she called.

“Good. Lift your knee over the edge, and I will give ye a push.”

Heather tried to lift her kne
e, but it was twisted and weighed down by her gown. “I canna!”