To Desire a Highlander (5 page)

“Where were you?” Blackie glanced round at his brothers, looking again to Donell when they all nodded, showing equal curiosity.

“Ever sailing these Isles, I was.” Donell glanced at the horizon, his face sobering. “A storm damaged my ship and carried us into Manx waters, where we weren’t
greeted kindly.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “The good folk of Man accused us of spying and tossed us in a pit. I only just escaped, gathering a new crew and ship on my way home. Sadly, my other men are no more.”

Gillian edged closer. Curiosity compelled her to hear his explanation. That, and the surprising awareness that sprang between them when he caught her gaze again, smiling this time. The smile made his eyes twinkle and the wind riffled his hair, tossing the gleaming black strands. Gillian’s pulse raced, looking at him. He had a disturbing effect on her, something about him taking her breath, drawing her forward even when she didn’t wish to go.

Rough and bearlike he might be, but he’d turned much too handsome.

And she was much too aware of the change.

“I didnae expect a welcoming party.” He addressed Mungo, but kept his attention on her. A frank gaze that swept from the top of her head to her toes and back up again. “I’d forgotten how swiftly word spreads in these isles. It is good of you to greet me.”

“Aye, well…” Mungo hooked his thumbs in his sword belt, oblivious to the tension crackling in the chill air. How Donell’s smile widened, his gaze not on Mungo, but steady on Gillian.

She could scarce breathe. Try as she might, she was unable to look away from his dark eyes. Had they always been such a rich molten brown, so blatantly male, and disturbingly sensual? His smile made them crinkle, a small detail that only heightened the good looks he’d gained in his absence. Gillian wished he’d scowl; anything to banish the dimple just above his beard. She also tried not to
notice how his nearness almost made her dizzy. For sure, she didn’t like the shivers that his bold perusal sent rippling all through her.

“We’ve brought supplies, readied your hall.” Mungo rocked back on his heels, blethering on. “Seeing as you’ve been gone all these years. It was the least we could do, almost family as we are—”

“Indeed.” Donell nodded, but said no more. He rubbed the back of his neck, some of the warmth going out of his eyes, his smile fading.

He seemed taken aback, not sure what to make of her father’s words.

Watching him closely, Gillian thought she’d seen confusion flicker across his face, but the look was so fleeting, she couldn’t be sure.

He’d turned away, glancing to where his men were still scrambling off the longship. A few were already unloading spears, swords, and armor, while some shouldered great rolls of fleeces and large sailcloth satchels that surely held clothes and bedding. Several of her brothers had climbed aboard and were helping to heft crates and barrels onto the shore. From the smell drifting on the wind, the cargo was salted herring and dried meat.

“I’ve brought a shipload of provisions.” Donell turned back to her father, slinging an arm around the older man’s shoulders. “But my men and I thank you for your generosity. For truth, your Castle Sway kitchens produce more appealing fare than our meager goods.

“You’ll join us for a homecoming feast this night?” He again looked at Gillian, but then his gaze flicked to the large square keep so high above the rocky shore. Swirling mist almost hid it from view, but the tower’s ruinous state
was apparent. Salt and sea wind had bleached the window shutters still in place, turning them as gray as the crumbling stone. A few gaps in the walls warned nights within would prove as cold as on the rocky shore.

Donell gave her father a self-deprecating smile. “Then again, as things stand…” He flashed another glance at Gillian. “I cannae promise my hall is fit for a lady—”

“Pah!” Mungo waved away his objection. “My gel is no ordinary lass. As your betrothed, she’ll put the place to rights before you can blink. Gillian has a way with housekeeping, she—”

“That I ken.” Donell didn’t miss a beat, heading over to her, coming fast.

The glint in his eye, the hard set of his jaw, made her forget every word he and her father had just exchanged. Indeed, even her reason for standing here almost slipped from her mind.

She saw only Donell, the slight narrowing of his dark, intense eyes.

She held up a hand, hoping to halt him.

He kept on, ignoring her objection. “You needn’t assure me of her talents.” He tossed the quip to her father, not breaking stride. “Lady Gillian is as renowned for her skills as for her beauty.”

“See here…” Gillian couldn’t finish, needing a steadying breath more than arguments. Sparks leapt between them, the very air shifting. Heat rose around her, warming her skin despite the racing wind, the day’s bitter cold.

He was almost upon her and she felt more than saw his displeasure. He’d caught himself quickly, even before her father finished speaking. If he’d been shocked by the implications behind praise of her housekeeping talent,
he’d again seized the advantage. He wore a wickedly devilish look that jellied her knees.

She bristled.

He might be roguish, even wildly attractive, but she wouldn’t bat her eyelashes, allow him to fluster her. There were surely enough women who did. And she wasn’t about to join their ranks.

She wasn’t so easily charmed.

So she lifted her chin, willing a steely glint into her eyes. She knew with feminine instinct that he wasn’t pleased by her father’s reminder of their betrothal.

Perhaps he’d met another woman during his years away, wished to marry her?

One could hope.

She wouldn’t mind releasing him from their ties, freeing him to claim another.

Unfortunately, the closer he came, the more she discerned an entirely different intent. As he loomed before her, his towering presence blocking her family and even her view of the landing beach, she knew she wasn’t mistaken. Especially when he set his hands on her shoulders, a slow smile spreading across his strong, bearded face.

He meant to kiss her.

She frowned, hoping to dissuade him.

“It’s too late for posturing, sweetness.” He shook his head, the thick raven silk of his hair teasing his broad, plaid-draped shoulders.

“I did no’ expect to see you again.” Gillian straightened, flicked at her sleeve. “No’ this day, no’ ever. In truth, I scarce recognize you.”

“Then I was gone too long, I’m thinking.” He caught her hand, linking their fingers, bringing her wrist to his
lips. The warmth of his mouth against her skin and the light brush of his wind-chilled beard sent a rush of tingly sensation along her nerves.

Even the thin scar that arced across his left cheekbone made her breath catch, her insides quiver. Obviously a knife-slash, and a mark she didn’t recall, the scar enhanced his appeal, giving him a roguish air she was sure had most women melting into puddles at his feet. Inexplicably irritated by the notion, she stiffened, hoping he couldn’t tell how much he unsettled her.

Chill mist swirled around them, but she’d have sworn the air held enough heat to singe them.

She could feel the blaze, hot and searing.

Worse, a terrible tingly warmth spread across her most private places. Intense, and shockingly pleasurable, the rush of intimate sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt.

She kept her chin raised, sure even the blood in her veins had turned to flame. “I understand if you have regrets about our betrothal. If you’d rather—”

“My only sorrow is that I left you on your own, all this time.” He straightened, still grasping her hand. His own was warm and firm, calloused. “It was an unavoidable mishap that I must remedy to the fullest. Indeed, I shall put the task above all others,” he said, a slow smile curving his lips. “You, fair lady, deserve nae less.”

Gillian bristled, not missing the irony in his voice.

She was certain he hadn’t meant a word.

The tingly ripples between her thighs began to lessen, the unexpected and shocking heat cooling.

“I, sir, am the least of your cares.” She leaned around him to peer at his ship; the men still unloading his cargo.
Some of them threw looks at Donell that showed they were amused by his encounter with her. One or two ignored him, their gazes boldly traveling up and down the length of her. She turned back to Donell, pretending not to have noticed. “You have much work to do. I do no’ wish to intrude, though I would like to speak with you.”

He inclined his head. “I am honored.”

Gillian narrowed her eyes at him.

Honor was the last thing on his mind. She hadn’t been raised in a castle filled with men not to recognize when she was being teased. Or, as with this man before her, being played for a fool.

“You are honored I wish us to speak?” She lifted a brow of her own. “That is all?”

“Nae.” He looked amused by her challenge, which only heightened her annoyance.

“We shall enjoy more than talk.” He squeezed her fingers and smiled again, the intimacy of his tone sliding over her as softly as the whirling mist. “Surely you ken how much I’ve missed you?”

She didn’t, not at all. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Then you know little of men.” His gaze slid over her, appreciatively. “You are no’ a maid easily forgotten.”

Gillian felt heat inching up her neck. She was also aware of her temper rising. Any moment he’d push her into proving why she’d earned her by-name, Spitfire of the Isles. But she didn’t trust herself to speak, not now. How could she when he was looking at her as though he might devour her whole?

“You have not seen me in five years.” It was the best she could do.

Just standing so close to him hampered her wits, making it hard to find words. He was simply too big, too bold, and entirely too confident.

She didn’t care for his swagger.

“It has been a long time,” she gave him the same argument, the intensity of his gaze unnerving her so much she could think of nothing else.

“Nae man could gaze upon you and no’ desire you.” He touched her hair, letting his fingers trail lightly over the wind-mussed strands. “Such a man would carry your image with him always, nae matter where he journeyed or how long he was away. He’d yearn for you in his waking hours, suffering the loss of your presence, and he’d dream of you at night, longing for you through the empty darkness.

“Think you I am different from other men?” He arched a raven brow, held her gaze.

“I believe some men are gifted with silvered tongues.” She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he seemed to possess such a talent.

“Indeed?” He again employed his deeply seductive voice, so much smoother and richer than she remembered.

Worse, as though he’d read her thoughts and wished to bedevil her, he leaned in so close that their faces almost touched. His eyes narrowed on hers, steady and deliberate. His breath flickered across her lips, soft, warm, and intensely disturbing.

“So you are familiar with men’s tongues?” He arched a brow again, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. “The skills of mine might shock you.”

“Nothing you do surprises me.” Gillian stood straighter, not about to show how much he unsettled her.

His words, and their scandalous implication, made her heart beat faster and sent tingly awareness coiling through the lower parts of her belly.

“Aye, well…” He lifted one of her curls, rubbing the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “For sure, you caught me unawares, being here.”

“My father is responsible.” She saw no reason to lie.

She also felt feverish, certain she’d sway any moment if he didn’t step back, giving her air. Already, her heart raced crazily and she heard a strange, high-pitched buzzing in her ears, as if a herd of maddened midges swarmed right behind her head.

“Then I am in his debt. You were much on my mind, lass.” He shifted his gaze to the sea, where the tide ran strong. The wind was picking up, the cold air full of brine and the scream of gulls, the reek of wet rock and seaweed. It was a heady blend to any Hebridean. Clearly appreciative, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

When he turned back to her, a wicked smile came to his lips. “I did miss you.”

“I do not see why.” Gillian spoke as levelly as she could, successfully extracting her hand from his grasp. “We only saw each other once, when we were betrothed at Sway.”

“All the more reason to waste nae further time.” He seized her hand again, nipping her fingers with his teeth. Pure devilry glinted in his eyes, as if he wished to fluster her. “Do you no’ agree?”

Before she could respond, he pulled her to him, whipping an iron-hard arm around her so that she was crushed to his broad, mail-clad chest. From a great distance, or so it seemed, she heard her brothers—or Donell’s
men?—cheering and shouting encouragement. Despite their tumult, or perhaps because of it, he clutched her even tighter, capturing her lips in a hard, rough kiss that swept her with a current of scorching heat. With his other hand, he gripped the back of her head, holding her in place as he plundered her mouth, kissing her deeply. It was a kiss unlike any she’d ever imagined and its boldness stunned her, leaving her breathless.

Shaken and rattled, beyond repair.

When he finally set her from him, his flashing grin once more in place, it was clear that every man on the landing beach had watched. Worse, the approval on their faces proved they’d found masculine delight in seeing her long-lost betrothed claim what was his.

Too bad she felt otherwise.

Brushing down her skirts, she met Donell’s amused gaze. “I am not a tavern wench to be ravished so scandalously, before all men and—”

“There is nae shame in a man eagerly greeting his wife-to-be.” He looked round at the others, her father and her brothers, his own crew, who’d stopped their work to stare down the beach at them.

“You could have waited.” She followed his gaze, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

Every man present returned Donell’s smile, the lot of them grinning like fools.

“Nae, I couldn’t have done.” As if he wished to vex her even more, and entertain their audience, he traced a finger down the curve of her cheek and then along her jaw, studying its path as if he’d never seen anything as fascinating. “By Thor, I’m feeling a powerful urge to kiss you again.”