The Highlander's Sin (14 page)

“Turn around! What are ye doing?” she cried.

“I thought—” But he didn’t finish his own sentence, just stared at her, devouring her length in a way that made her
nipples ache and sweet twinges of desire flicker beneath her triangle of curls.

“
Turn around.” For her sake, she prayed he’d listen, for her voice had clearly lost its urgency.

Duncan didn’t turn around. He took a step forward. Her eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he whirled back around. Heather bent quickly to pick up the plaid blanket and wrapped it around herself until she was sure not a smidge
n of skin showed—including the tips of her toes.

“I’m covered,” she murmured.

“Thank God,” he answered.

Heather couldn’t help herself. She laughed. She laughed so hard she could barely stay on her feet. Drunken giddiness took over—but she was hardly sotted. She’d had a tiny sip of
whisky and had barely felt its heat in her belly. She was drunk on something else entirely—relief, stress, something.

“Have ye gone mad?” Duncan asked.

The expression on his face only made her laugh harder. He looked truly stricken.

“Ye might need to take a seat.” His fr
own deepened as he spoke to her and pointed at the ground. He stomped forward and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Ye’ve not caught a fever yet. What’s the matter with ye?”

“Have ye never heard anyone laugh before?”

“Aye, I’ve heard plenty of people laugh. But never one in such a state as yourself. What have ye to laugh about?”

“Have
ye been in this situation so often, then?” Her laughter stilled. How many others had he abducted and brought here? How many others had he stripped naked in the rain?

Duncan stroked a finger over her chin, making her tremble. “Make no mistake, Lady Heather, I’ve
never
been in this situation before.”

All laughter cease
d as their gazes once more locked. She searched his eyes for the meaning behind his words, but all she found was a bottomless pool she wanted to dip into. She swallowed, licked her lower lip nervously.

“If ye’ve never been in a situation such as we find ourselves, then how do ye know we shouldn’t be laughing? We are alive
, are we not? Dinna ye find humor in it?”

“Nay.”
His gaze was firmly on her lips.

“Not even a tiny bit?”

He shook his head.

“What do ye see?” she asked.

“A beautiful woman.”

Heather gasped, not having expected that to be his response.

“Ye’re not allowed to say that.”

“Why? Because I’m a priest or because I’m your captor?” Duncan’s voice had
taken on a gravelly, low edge that made her toes curl into the cave floor.

She bit the inside of her cheek and mumbled, “Both.”

“Maybe I dinna want to be either.”

“What?” She didn’t understand what he was saying. How could he not be either?

He stroked his palm over her cheek, warm and coarse. Heather bit her lip to avoid the sigh poised to escape. Toying with her wet tendrils, he curled an end around his finger.

“Ye make a man forget what he is.”
Duncan’s tone deepened.

She watched her darkened, damp hair form a slow circle around his
index finger. A thousand butterflies danced in her belly. “How can ye forget who ye are?”

“I’m forgetting who I’m not.”

“Ye speak in riddles.” She met his heady gaze, again trying to see the man beneath the mystery.

Duncan’s
lip curled slightly on one side, forming a dimple in his cheek. How desperately she wanted to kiss the spot.

“With ye… I want to be someone else. Someone I buried.”

“A man ye killed?” A chill snaked up her spine.

He shrugged. “In a matter of speaking. He was me.”

“Why did ye…do away with him?”

Duncan shook his head, dropped the curl from his finger. The hint of smile left his face, replaced by a dark, brooding frown. “I didna. Someone else did, leaving me to pick up the pieces and form a new life. This life.” Bitterness dripped from his words as he held his arms out to the side, palms up, and looked around the cave.

Duncan was a broken man. One Heather felt a sudden urge to heal. She reached an arm through the blanket and touched his chest, feeling the slight bump of his heart beneath her fingertips.

“Who is inside here?”

“No one.” He stepped away from her, telling her without words that he didn’t want her to pry.

But Heather wasn’t going to allow him to back away. She stepped
forward, filling the space between them. She touched her palm to his stubbled cheek and spoke softly. “Tomorrow, or the day after that, ye’re going to give me up to people who will likely kill me, and if they dinna, I’m as good as dead besides. At least tell me who ye really are.”

He studied her face for the span of several heartbeats, his lips in a firm line, brows crinkled together. “I’m Duncan
. Of Clan MacKay.”

“MacKay?” The clan was a familiar one. Many tales centered around them—and a few within her own family. One
. namely, Uncle Nicholas, had gone against her father’s wishes and had slaughtered Laird MacKay, his entire family and many in his clan. A faction of the clan had since returned to their holding and begun anew. Was Duncan’s family amongst those her relation had murdered?

“Ye’ve not heard of us?”

Heather shook her head and glanced toward the ground, feeling shame at what her uncle had done to the clan. “I’ve heard.”

“I am your enemy,” he said.

She glanced back up at him, frowning. “Nay. Not my enemy at all.”

Duncan’s face grew darker as he glowered down at her. “Not your enemy?” he repeated.

“Nay.”

He groaned, whirled away from her and found the jug of
whisky he’d discarded before. Popping the cork, he took a long swig. Without a glance her way, he held it out to her. Heather took hold of the jug and drew in a small sip. This time, she did feel it burn a path down her throat, and she shuddered.

When she handed it back, their fingers brushed, giving her the urge to grab hold of his hand—an urge she did not give in to.

Duncan took the whisky, and, between sips, unhooked his priest’s robes, revealing an inch of tan, muscled flesh at a time. Riveted, she could not turn away. He tossed the billowing black fabric into a corner. Heather’s eyes widened, her mouth dry. He wore only his plaid at his hips—no shirt.

What she’d glimpsed beneath his wet leine was nothing compared to viewing his flesh uncovered. Broad, muscled shoulders led to sinewy arms that bunched and lengthened with each of his movements. His chest was…breathtaking. She swallowed, unable to truly focus on much else. A sprinkling of dark hair curled over rippling muscles and an abdomen that resembled stacked stones. He was a powerhouse. His own fortress.

Heather had seen plenty of strong men before. Her brothers, cousins, clan warriors… But none compared. None had made her feel the way Duncan did. None had made her weak in the knees just from staring at his naked torso.

So engrossed in staring, she’d nearly forgotten what they’d been speaking about until he said it again—“Not your enemy, lass? If I’m not your enemy, then who am I? Do enlighten me, for I’ve lived the last twenty years as though your family were demons and I the devil who would put them down.”

Heather wet her lips, hoping her voice didn’t come out a croak. Her mouth was so dry, her chest tight. She didn’t want to have this serious conversation. She just wanted to touch his muscles, to see if they were as hard as they looked, or if his skin was rough or soft. Shallow of her, aye, the man was ripping open his chest and showing her what lay inside. But maybe that was just it. By revealing himself, he was trusting her, pulling her in, though they really should have been pushing each other away.

“I don’t know,
” she whispered.

“Have ye gone daft? I stole ye away from your family.”

She nodded. “Aye, ye did that, but then ye saved me when I fell in the water. Am I to still call ye my enemy when ye saved my life?”

He stalked toward her. She backed away. Aye, she wanted to touch him, but the closer he got, the closer that wish came to being a reality.

Duncan continued to advance on her. Coming closer. Closer still. And then her back was hitting the stone wall of the cave. She clutched at the blanket surrounding her like a lifeline. A memory of her sister-by-marriage, Arbella, came to mind. A conversation they’d had in which Heather had proclaimed that she would choose her own husband, and if he didn’t want to be her man, she’d take him.

Lord, if the circumstances had been different… She might just have made Duncan hers forever, wrapping her arms around his neck for a kiss and helping to heal the brokenness blackening his insides.

But in this current situation, she trembled at the knees and tightened the cocoon of wool around herself, because that was the only barrier between him and her—the only shred of decency she felt she had left.

Duncan
pressed his free hand on the wall above her head, pinned her to the stone with his hips. A hard bulge of something pressed between her thighs—his sword? His…shaft?

She chewed her bottom lip.

He took a long draw of whisky. “Why do ye play games with my mind?” he said in a low growl. Pressing his nose to her wet hair, he breathed deeply. “I had a duty.”

“I’m not playing games,” she whispered. “I’m not keeping ye from your duty.”

“Aye, but ye see,” he took another swig, “ye are.”

“How?”

He fingered the blanket around her neck. “By being so tempting.”

“I’m only wearing this because my clothes were wet.”

“Wet…” He nodded, his eyes boring into hers. Duncan pressed his forehead to hers, the tips of their noses touching.

Would he kiss her again?

God, she wanted him to kiss her.

Chapter Thirteen

L
ips as tempting as a cherry tart.

Duncan breathed in Heather’s scent, trying to
grasp some shred of control. She was his captive. She was a virgin. She was so damned tempting.

His cock raged with the need to drive between her thighs, and every inch of him screamed to peel the blanket from her clutching fingers and reveal the beauty of her body to his eyes. He’d caught a glimpse
when she’d stripped off her wet clothes—long legs with tight, lithe thighs. Rounded hips. Plush breasts.

Enough to make him forget who they both were. Enough to make him want to change the course of his destiny.

“Let me kiss ye,” he said.

His cock was pressed tight to the juncture of her thighs, and he wanted more than anything
to rip away his plaid and her blanket so that he could feel the damp curls of her sex part on his shaft.

“I canna,
” she whispered.

“Why?”
Their lips were only an inch apart. All he had to do was sink against her.

“’Tis wrong.”

She had a point, even if she didn’t sound completely convinced of it herself. But that wasn’t going to stop him from desiring her.

“There is one thing ye must know about me,” he said, dragging his lips along her jawline.
Soft skin…

“What?” Her voice shook.

“I was forced into those robes. The church is not my destiny.”

Her throat bobbed against his lips when she swallowed.

“What is?”

Duncan pulled
at the blanket enough to reveal the crook between her shoulder and neck. He pressed his lips to the rapid beat of her pulse, suckling gently at the tender flesh. Heather let out a short gasp. When he looked up at her, she’d sucked her lower lip into her mouth, silencing her reaction.

“I’m not sure anymore,” he answered honestly.
This time he was the one swallowing hard. “I became a mercenary in order to train for the day I met up with my enemies, so I could exact vengeance.” He shook his head. “Not sure about that so much anymore, either.” He gave her a pointed stare, wondering if she’d realize, see in his eyes, how much she’d changed him.

Shooting a pale hand from inside the clutches of her blanket, Heather took the
whisky jug and held it to her lips. ’Haps she did see. Duncan stroked a hand through his hair. It was drying quite a bit quicker than hers.

“I had a plan,” she
blurted out.

Duncan raised a brow.
“A plan to escape?”

She shook her head, then stilled it, crinkling her
nose. “Well, aye, ye canna expect me to simply allow ye to hand me over to the heathens who paid for me. But that is not what I meant.”

“What did ye mean?”
He traced a finger along the column of her neck, following his touch with a path of kisses.

She took another long pull of
whisky. Duncan took the jug away from her, corked it and tossed it through the cave, where it landed perfectly on his discarded robe, unbroken.

“Enough drink. Tell me what ye meant.”
He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth.

Heather’s breath hitched.
“I had a plan before ye came to Dunrobin. Ye ruined my plan.”

“And what was that?” He grinned, toying with the ends of her hair again. “To plait your hair and weave a
crown of gillyflowers?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “What ye must think of me,” she drawled out.

“The same I think of any princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“Might as well be. Now tell me about your plan.”

She pursed her lips. “Never mind.”

“Ah, but ye see, I do mind. I’m very interested to hear the workings of your mind and your grand scheme.” He rubbed the edges of the blanket were it lay near her collarbone, itching to tug it away.

“How do ye know it was grand?”

“Everything ye do is grand.”

She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Ye have a point.”

He was glad to see cheer returning to her, to see that she was no longer shivering. Her eyes were clear of haze, and whatever illness she’d been on the brink of receiving had dissipated.

He plucked gently at the blanket. “If ye dinna tell me—”

“Och, dinna threaten me, Highlander. What leverage do ye have? This blanket?” She pinched it at her neck and tugged. “Ye’ve already seen me naked.”

That
he had… And the mention of it only brought the sweet memory to the forefront of his mind.

“Dinna talk about the blanket,” he said. His gaze roved to where her breasts were. Beneath the
wool he was sure her arms covered them, for her hands peeked out from the middle of her chest. He could simply part the folds and reveal…so much.

“Fine. I shall tell ye of my plan, but ye mustn’t laugh at me.”

“I canna promise not to laugh.” He winked.

“Then I won’t tell ye.”

“Then I’ll be forced to rip this bit of plaid from where ye stand and toss it into the burning fire. Besides, ye laughed like a banshee not a quarter hour ago, ’haps now ’tis my turn.”

Heather pouted prettily, pushing her pink
lips out. Lord, he wanted to sink his teeth into her, to lap at every inch of skin on her body and then do it all over again. His cock was already rock solid and leapt at the idea, pressing itself further against her.

Her eyes widened. She was obviously aware of his arousal, though she said nothing and remained perfectly still.

“I want to find William Wallace.”

He couldn’t help it. The laugh escaped him in a short burst and then grew into the same maniacal cackle she’d had before. “Find Wallace? Whatever for?” he asked between chuckles.

Heather’s cheeks had brightened into two flames. “Ye’re impossible!” She swatted at him, which only made her blanket dip low on one creamy shoulder. “This is why I didna want to tell ye.”

But Duncan had stopped laughing, because he’d seen that shoulder, and she’d yet to realize that it was still showing. One freckle sat dead center in it. He fell forward, pressing his lips to the tiny beauty mark and inhaling the scent of her skin. Heather gasped and pushed against him weakly.

“Dinna,” she whispered.

Duncan pulled his mouth from her skin. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to scare her away.

“Wallace is not an easy man to find,” he said.

“Aye. I know it. But my brothers said he was back in Glasgow.”

“We are nay going to Glasgow.”

“I know.”

“Is that why ye came so willingly with me? Because ye thought I might take ye closer to Wallace?” A spear of jealously drove through his gut. “Are ye in love with him?” He couldn’t help the hint of disgust. Wallace was a great and powerful man, no doubt. Brave and hearty, what this country needed in its war against the English. But Duncan would have had the same reaction toward the thought of her loving any other man.

Besides him.

Devil take it! Duncan wanted Heather to love him.

Ballocks!

She crinkled up her pert little nose and shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “Nay, of course not. How could ye think such a thing?”

“Then why do ye need to find him?”

“Because I want to fight, of course.”

Duncan swallowed, the breath taken from his lungs
. His relief at hearing her say she wasn’t in love with Wallace was strong, and yet his shock at hearing she wanted to get herself killed rocked him to the core. “Fight?” He prayed he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Aye. I want to fight for our freedom. I want to convince Wallace to reconcile himself to our cause again. To ask for his position as Guardian of Scotland back. We were never so strong as we were with him.”

Duncan took a step away from her, somehow able to keep himself balanced, even though she’d shaken him. “Ye’re a political little chit are ye, nay?”

She tugged the blanket tighter around her and shrugged. “I’d not thought of myself that way particularly, but I guess ye could say that.”

“Ye’d not last a day.”

Heather lifted her chin, jutting it forward in a show of
obstinacy. “How dare ye say such a thing?”

“’Tis the truth. The men would eat ye alive.”

“There are plenty of women who’ve come before me that have held positions in politics. My brother Ronan’s wife, Julianna, for one.”

“The Bruce’s sister? Have ye met her?” The woman scared him.

“Of course I have, she’s a gem.”

“A gem?” Duncan snorted. “A black diamond, sharpened into a blade and thrust within a man’s gut.”

Heather’s reaction was swift, fierce, and he didn’t even see it coming. She closed the distance between them and socked him in the gut.

“Like that?”
she ground out.

He barely doubled over. Though her blow
had stung a little, she’d hardly the momentum to cause damage with all the blankets holding her arms back.

“Why not shed the blanket and show me a real punch?”

“I’d not give ye the pleasure.”

Duncan gripped her arms and lifted her a few inches off her feet. “I could crus
h ye, lass. Crumble ye to dust with one hand. Dinna tempt me to punish ye.”

“Do it, I dare ye.”

He was not normally one to toss a challenge like that aside. But knocking her out was not what he wanted to do. Nay, Duncan wanted to kiss the breath from her. He hauled her against him and did just that, crushing his lips to hers. Punishing her for all she stood for and all the pain he’d endured over the years. He assaulted her mouth in a fiery kiss that left them both panting and breathless.

Heather grappled with the blanket with one hand while the other managed to snake out enough to wrap around his ribs. Her breasts were flattened to his chest with dizzying effect. He’d never been so taken with a woman, so crippled by the need to have her. Every nerve was afire with desire, demanding he slake that need.

But Heather wasn’t a woman a man rutted. She was a woman he cherished, took his time with.

And realizing that, he slowed the kiss, stroking his tongue over hers, melding his body against her, feeling every curve.
He set her on her feet, mostly so he could grip a round buttock in one hand and her damp hair with the other.

This was wrong. So wrong. Knowing that didn’t stop him from doing it. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of her.

“Och, Heather,” he crooned against her lips.

She answered with a soft whimper.

“We must stop,” he said. The voice of reason reminded him she wore only a blanket, and with just a few more seconds of his mouth on hers he was bound to shred the fabric from her body and lay it on the ground where he’d make sweet love to her for the duration of the storm outside.

“Aye,” she agreed. Trembling in his arms, she held tight to him as though he could keep her from falling. But he wasn’t so sure he could hold himself up properly, not with the spell she’d put him under. “Why do ye bother to be a gentleman when ye’re only going to turn me over to someone else?” She bit her lip and glanced up at him with eyes clouded by desire and curiosity. “Why not show me what pleasure is before ye doom me to a life in hell?”

Guilt rocked him. He was dooming her to that. But it was necessary. Or at least it had been. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Nay,” he answered, refusing to take what she offered. He didn’t deserve it.

Her face colored a shade darker. “Am I so vile, so wanton? Or was that part of what was paid for?”

Duncan shook his head. “Nay.”

“Nay, what?”

“Ye’re n
ot vile or wanton.”

“But my virginity was paid for.”

“’Twas recommended ye arrive intact.”

“But ye can kiss me all ye want? Look your fill?” Anger filled her eyes, and her lips drew into a grimace. “Well
, look then.” Heather tossed the blanket aside, revealing her body in all its naked splendor. But, for some reason, when she showed him like this, he refused to look. “For this will never be yours, Priest.”