The Virgin's Pursuit (2 page)

The notion flattered him. Women of the Scots court only sought him out for his wealth. His standing with the king. Even the widows were more concerned with lucrative remarriage than pleasure.

How ironic that now he sought her out for political purposes, while she seemed to want him for something far more interesting.

“And why should they? You have a heart of stone, I fear.” She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Perhaps you require more temptation than an inexperienced maid is used to providing.”

She tapped her lips thoughtfully, as if considering the idea. His blood surged with carnal longing, and he tried to imagine what played through her mind.

He would be lucky if he could make his legs walk back to the keep at this rate. The heavy weight between his thighs would not be eased anytime soon.

“Lady, you misunderstand—”

His words dried up in his throat as her fingers reached for the laces up the side of her surcoat.

“I know little of men,” she said, sliding loose one of the ties until her surcoat hung shapelessly about her figure. “But I have heard men are moved by what they can see.”

His eyes burned with the desire to blink, to give his brain even a moment's respite from what he feared she was about to do. If he could have moved he would have reached to stop her. To save them both from the fierce tide of heat that rolled through him. Yet he stood frozen and watchful, like a great buck just before the firing of a deadly arrow.

Perhaps she recognized how powerless she held him, for she smiled with the knowing of Eve before she bent to lift the hem of her heavy outer garment.

“Isolda, you should not—” he protested, holding himself back with formidable restraint that would not last.

But before he could finish the thought, the noblewoman-turned-woodland nymph plucked off the gown and flung it to the ground. Clad in the softest linen kirtle imaginable, she stood before him. The garment revealed every curve and hollow, every shadowy nuance of the most comely form he'd ever beheld.

Full breasts tested the strength of the worn fabric where it cupped her graceful curves. Her hips swayed from side to side as she neared him, bringing the whole, decadent offering closer to him.

“Well, Cormac?” She paused a mere hand's span away, close enough for him to inhale the clean scent of her hair and the earthy fragrance of womanly desire. “Will you banish my loneliness for just one night?”

Could he see her tremble?

Isolda could not imagine her shame if he refused her. Yet she had pursued him as far as she dared. Every maidenly instinct screamed in protest at her boldness. But she was not the pampered daughter of a rich overlord any longer. Life in the forest had taught her self-reliance and daring, strengths she'd never known she possessed until she'd needed to hunt her own food. Build her own shelter.

She'd sacrificed her pride, her refined manners and many worldly possessions already. Surely she could part with this one last remnant of her old self—her innocence—for the sake of her dreams? Her family legacy should not die with her.

Cormac's eyes darkened from tawny gold to rich amber, his gaze moving over her body with a thoroughness that both thrilled and frightened her.

What have I done?

She had never felt so vulnerable. Even in the dead of winter, she had not once been so exposed. Thinking she'd given her scheme long enough to work, she was about to retrieve her surcoat when he reached for her.

His hands clamped about her sides, holding her steady as his mouth descended upon hers. She had no time to react, her lips parting with surprise. But any startled sound she might have made was lost in his kiss.

She knew this was not the kind of kiss a lady would receive. An unbetrothed woman of her once lofty station would never have been so thoroughly handled. He used his hands to draw her close, pressing her to him in sudden, aggressive contact.

Her whole body caught fire. Whatever had been simmering slowly before now leapt into full flame at the contact of his hard, masculine form against her soft curves. His tongue stroked hers with a knowing skill that left her breathless and wanting. His kisses were deep and thorough. She clenched the front of his tunic in helpless surrender—or was the grip a desperate plea? She wasn't even sure herself.

But Cormac knew.

Her bold act of partial disrobing had sent his noble intentions packing, leaving in their wake a man with more base—and exciting—desires. His thigh slid between her legs, anchoring her body against the tree behind her and awakening her most secret places to a delicious new thrill.

She told herself she was simply excited that her plan to conceive was working. But the sweet arousal swirling through her senses owed more to the man than to achieving a goal. Apparently, Cormac knew how to make coupling something more than just functional. He could make it so deliciously exciting she thought she might faint.

“Tell me you deserve better,” he muttered against her lips between kisses, his voice rough and demanding. His thigh pressed harder between her legs and she couldn't suppress a shudder of pleasure. “Tell me to go.”

He seemed to want her to refuse him, and she had no idea why. He'd claimed to love no other. What else would stop a man from what she so freely offered? Aye, what she was growing frantic to offer? The delicious pressure between her legs made her weak with desire, her whole body melting into his as her fingernails scraped lightly down his chest and then up underneath his tunic.

He was hot and hard everywhere, his whole body fiery and fierce. She had never imagined she could feel so wanton with a man she did not know—would never see again. But the hunter was different. Special.

“We cannot do this.” He made a rough sound and jerked away from her, leaving her swaying on her feet. If not for the tree at her back she might not have stayed standing. They stared at one another in potent silence, each of them breathing hard with frustrated passion.

“I do not understand.” She shook her head in confusion and hurt, her whole body aching with unfulfilled need.

He swung toward her, his gaze as dark as ever, his nostrils flaring.

“I will have you, Isolda.” His words rang through the quiet woods with the finality of a vow sworn on a knightly sword. “But first you will promise to wed me.”

The idea was so ludicrous she could not hold back a startled laugh.

“What hunter passing through his overlord's forest wishes to wed the lowly maid he finds there? This is no royal court, sir, and I am no titled daughter.”

“Are you not?” The cool challenge in his voice took her by surprise.

But no more than the aloof, assessing gaze.

At that moment, she saw something more in the hunter's eyes than his gentle respect for the land and his easy skill with a bow. She spied the warrior within.

This was no simple tradesman. Underneath that quiet, steadfast demeanor beat the heart of a proud and arrogant knight of the realm.

“You
knew
.” Her skin chilled with the realization that this man had hunted her as surely as he'd flushed out other reluctant creatures. She reached for her surcoat and hastily slid it over her head. “This whole time, you knew me?”

Her heart pounded as furiously with this mortifying betrayal as it had earlier with attraction. She could not believe the gravity of her mistake. What if she'd unwittingly conceived a child by some man who purposely sought to control her family legacy through the babe?

“I have sought you since the spring—”

“All those hunting trips have been—” she could scarcely speak around the sting of his falseness and her foolishness “—ruses to make me trust you?”

His brow furrowed. “Nay. I have merely hunted after spending long hours searching for you. It seems you have known of my presence longer than I have known of yours.”

He appeared vexed by the idea, while she still reeled with the revelation. Her hands fisted at her sides.

“And who are you, truly?” she prodded, determined to know all at once. “You do not dress like a Norman, but are you one of my enemies in disguise? Or perhaps you are some ambitious Scot who wishes to use my unfortunate circumstances to gain a hint of legitimacy to retake Iness.”

She could already picture the betrayer dragging her and her babe to the Scots king to plead for her lands—lands he would control as the father to her child.

“I am Cormac of Glenmore.” His jaw tightened in irritation. Perhaps he did not care for the depiction of himself as a manipulative opportunist. “And I have no need of your name to retake Iness.”

“Nay?” She knew of Glenmore. Remembered the holding was not half so grand as her family seat had been before the Normans arrived.

“Nay. It is already done. I drove the Normans from Iness last spring. The lands are mine, as is the restored keep.” He spoke clearly enough, yet to her, the claim could have been in a foreign tongue.

It made no sense. It was not possible.

“The Normans left many retainers on the walls….” She shivered at the hurtful old memories. “I remained close to the land long enough to see there would be no easy return. The Normans entrenched themselves at Iness and I thought—my family had thought—they would use Iness as a base for further Scots conquests.”

Her father had warned her of such a possibility. Her mother had been ready to run away before the first riders even arrived at the gates. Isolda had heard rumors from the keep that her mother had wed one of the invaders in the aftermath. If those tales proved true, her mother had sailed to Normandy many moons ago. Isolda had left the grounds closest to Iness only when all hope of return seemed lost.

“The Normans have fled and will not come back again.” He gripped her arms, as if to impress his words more fully upon her. “Iness is mine, but I would share it with you if you will come back and bind our fates in marriage.”

She shivered beneath his touch, remembering how ready she'd been to give herself to him earlier, when she thought they would never meet for a second time. Now she knew he had planned the encounter long ago, seeking her out for her political importance. Surely he wanted his babe in her belly as much as she had earlier this day. But he wanted the legitimacy his offspring could give his rule, and nothing more.

“I cannot wed you.” Her plans had come to naught. Her fertility potion was wasted on a day that would bring no seed to her womb. “I chose you because I found your ways appealing, while you sought me merely for my name and title. A marriage between us will only remind me how I've failed my family by selling my name and birthright far too cheaply.”

Hurt and saddened, she turned to retreat into the forest, certain she could elude him and fade back into the woods forever.

“We have not finished our business here,” he warned, his warrior voice so commanding and certain she wondered how she had ever mistaken him for a simpler man.

“I have spoken my piece, Cormac of Glenmore.” She did not hurry, but her eyes looked ahead to find a break in the hawthorn hedges that would help guide her back home. “I will never accept your proposal.”

She could stay in the forest indefinitely. One day, she would find someone else to give her the child she craved….

The very idea made her wince. She had not realized how much she'd come to idealize her hunter, a man who did not even exist.

“I'm sorry, Isolda.” He was suddenly right behind her, his words warm against her ear as he dragged her back and held her fast. “But I cannot allow you to slip away again.”

 

Cormac had never experienced such teeth-grinding torment as he knew now.

Isolda squirmed against him in a futile attempt to free herself, and every shift and movement of her delectable form tempted him to take what she'd so freely offered earlier.

Before he'd informed her they would wed.

He would get to the bottom of her behavior later, since her kisses had been passionate, but obviously innocent. Right now, he just needed to bring her home. Preferably before he forgot all about the need for restraint and reminded her exactly how fast he could coax a sweeter response from her.

“You have no right.” Isolda finally stilled, though she glared at him over her shoulder as if her gaze alone could cast him into the fiery depths of hell itself.

“Not only do I have a right, I have a moral obligation to ensure a noblewoman is not struggling to survive on my lands when I could provide for her. You are my responsibility now.” He whistled to the horse he'd left grazing in a meadow nearby.

“Who struggles?” Her raised voice let loose her frustration with a directness most gently-bred women would not indulge in. “I am free in the forest and I am happy to be so. The days do not present hardship, but the joys of a simpler life.”

This was no furious ranting of an angered woman. Certainly, she seemed to believe she would fare well alone in the forest.

“You are an uncommon woman, Isolda of Iness.” He couldn't deny a new respect for her. “One day, you will tell me all about how you carved out a hidden existence in the woodlands right under Norman noses, but for now I need to get you back to the keep.”

His horse arrived—a fleet-footed mare with enough strength and speed to cover the many leagues before nightfall.

“I am not leaving,” she protested, her wide eyes and wrinkled nose telling him how repugnant she found the very idea. “I will never go back to Iness until my family's banner flies over the keep.”

“That is where you are wrong.” He did not give her any warning before he swept her off her feet and deposited her on the mare's back.

She gasped and nearly shrieked, but she was a wise enough horsewoman to know better than to frighten the animal.

“You are mad,” she accused, firing off the words like her own stock of arrows. “I escaped Iness once and I will only do so again.”

Hoisting himself up into the saddle behind her, Cormac found he was once again subjected to the sweet torment of her fragrant form pressed tight to his chest.

“Then I will have to keep my eye on you night and day to be sure that doesn't happen.” The idea of such close proximity sent a surge of pure longing through him.

He smiled when she met his words with cold silence. Kicking the animal into motion, he leaned into his new captive, gladly reminding her of the heat that flared between them when they touched.

“You suggested once before that I don't play enough games.” His hand spanned her ribs just beneath her breast, his thumb close enough to touch that plump swell if the horse should hit the ground with a bit of extra force. “But perhaps I just needed one that I found enjoyable.”

“Holding a woman against her will is no game,” she said stiffly, keeping herself as still as possible as they moved together in rhythm with the animal's cantering pace.

“Then I will make sure I only hold you when you want me to.” It would be no small hardship, since he suspected she would never again come to him as easily as she had that morning.

“That will never happen.” The heat in her tone when she said it gave him hope.

Where there was smoke, surely fire would follow. As he guided the mare to the east, where Iness awaited, Cormac knew he only needed to fan the flames.