To Desire a Highlander (6 page)

And then he did, this time brushing his mouth so softly over hers that, for a moment, she wasn’t even sure if he really had kissed her.

But he had, there could be no doubt.

She knew because another flurry of tingles rippled through her again. They spilled from her kiss-swollen lips right into her belly, where the startling sensations twirled wickedly before tumbling ever downward until she was quite sure her toes must be curling.

“Kisses are a fine thing, eh?” His tone was wicked. The way his eyes twinkled proved he knew what she was feeling.

Gillian stood frozen, sure her outrage made her glow like a balefire.

If she’d thought she was unsteady on her feet before, now her knees had weakened and spirals of shockingly pleasant heat persisted in spinning through the lowest regions of her female parts, warming her in places that shouldn’t respond to him no matter how masterfully he kissed.

“That, good sir, wasn’t necessary.” She met his gaze, more sure than ever that she’d need more than a few silver coins and Viking baubles to be rid of him.

He’d changed greatly.

And much as it annoyed her to admit, she almost preferred the brutish ox she remembered. What that said about her didn’t bear consideration.

Either way, she was in trouble.

Chapter Four

S
weet lass, I disagree powerfully.” Roag used his most charming tone, aware it would annoy her. No one else on the landing beach would hear, but he knew they were observed. So for good measure, he also rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “Kisses are aye needed, perhaps even life-sustaining. I cannae think to forgo such a delight.”

“I would call it otherwise.” She gave him a long, deliberate look, irritation sparking in her lovely emerald eyes. “It wasn’t enjoyable to me.”

“Is that so?” Roag smiled at her.

Her chin came up, the movement treating him to a delicate waft of lavender, a scrumptiously light and feminine scent that sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. “I didn’t like it at all.”

“I dinnae believe you. For myself, I couldnae resist kissing you.” He was also sure that she was the work of the devil.

Stepping back, he braced his legs apart and crossed his arms as he eyed her up and down. For sure, he had the rights of her. Only the fiend himself could craft such a bewitching enchantress. Lushly made, possessed of a fiery temperament, and with her coppery curls in wild abandon, she’d tempt the most hard-hearted man. Even one who’d sworn that he’d gone off women, something he, as a well-lusted, hot-blooded sort, certainly hadn’t done.

He appreciated women.

Nae, he craved them like the air he breathed. Perhaps even more so.

What a shame Lady Gillian was such a botheration.

But she was, so he kept his most roguish smile in place, hoping it was bold enough to send her running home to her cozy hearthside at Castle Sway. An island keep he thanked the gods he’d taken the effort to learn by name as the Clan MacGuire stronghold.

Truth was, he’d spent days studying a list of the Hebridean chieftains he might encounter on this mission. He’d learned their titles and by-names, the location and names of their island homes, their allies and enemies, how many ships and men they commanded, and even their peculiarities if they were known to have any worth noting.

He’d passed hours holed up in a little-used chamber at Stirling Castle, questioning the few men who’d met Donell MacDonnell, learning all he could about the rascally, skirt-chasing chieftain.

There’d been no mention of Lady Gillian MacGuire.

And he was going to have strong words with Alexander Stewart, King Robert III’s notorious brother, commonly known as the Wolf of Badenoch, and undisputable leader of the secret order of warriors known as the Fenris.

A clandestine brotherhood of trust that the Wolf had now breached beyond repair, sending Roag to this spit of rock in the windiest, coldest corner of the Hebridean Sea without warning him that the man he was supposed to be, by all the hamstrung, cross-grained gods and their minions, hadn’t just been a lecherous scoundrel of a hot-blooded wenching blackguard, but a fine lassie’s betrothed.

It was an inexcusable oversight.

He’d been assured he’d find Laddie’s Isle deserted, empty of all but weed-draped rock, the roar of the sea, and the bite of cold, salty air.

The isle wasn’t supposed to be occupied by a siren.

Nor had he thought to meet such a vixen’s father and brothers, men clearly eager to foist her upon him.

He required peace and solitude, a quiet place to work in stealth.

Lady Gillian stepped hard on his toe and poked a finger into his chest, reclaiming his attention and proving she was just the hellion he’d imagined. “We are betrothed, not wed or even handfasted,” she declared, her eyes blazing. “More restraint would be appreciated.”

“Dinnae push me, lass.” Roag pulled his foot from beneath hers and scowled at her. “My patience has already been tested this day, more than you ken. So have done and be glad I’m no’ of a mind to do more than kiss you.

“For the now,” he added, just to rile her.

Vexed himself, he glanced over his shoulder at his men, at her family. They were at the far end of the cove, making for the steep cliff path up to the ruined tower. Some were already climbing the harrowing track. He watched them for a moment and then turned again to the iron-gray sea, the freedom of its tossing waves.

Annoyance sluiced him. His damned head still throbbed, the ache even worse now. Closing his eyes, he pulled a hand down over his bearded chin.

Hoping to brace himself to better handle what was fast becoming the worst day of his life, he took a deep, fortifying breath of the cold sea air—only to hear the sudden swish of skirts and the unmistakable crunch of hastening female footsteps on the pebbled shore.

Roag swore and snapped open his eyes.

Lady Gillian was striding away from him, hurrying down the beach toward the others. The straight set of her back and her shoulders, along with her swift gait, screamed her perturbation to anyone who might see her.

“Prickly she-witch.” Roag frowned after her, his mood darkening even more when he saw that the men were now halfway up the cliff, about to turn a curve that would hide them from view. The great bulk of the headland would also prevent them from seeing the lass picking her way up the steep stone steps behind them.

A light rain was falling now and the path, little more than a perpendicular goat track, would be more slippery than ever.

If she fell, plunging to her death…

Roag took off at a run, pounding after her. A thousand thoughts went with him, clouding his mind, making him crazy. Dark, angry, and disturbing notions, riding him like a demon, urging him on.

Never in his world could he allow her to storm up such path in haste, in caution-blasting ire. Yet there she was, her skirts hitched high, her shapely legs and trim ankles carrying her much too quickly up the rain-wet cliff.

“Bluidy hell!” He ran faster, his heart almost stopping
when she slipped, flailing her arms before she caught herself and hurried on.

“Ho, lass, wait!” He reached the start of the path, launched himself up the rough stone steps, hewn out of the cliff centuries before. “Stay where you are, hold—”

The wind gusted, carrying away his shouts. The fool maid climbed on, one hand on her hip and the other at her brow, surely in a futile effort to keep her windblown hair from whipping across her eyes.

Roag doubted she could see at all.

The thought chilling him, he hurried on, taking the steps three at a time. He also swore, though his curses couldn’t be heard above the wind. Never would he have believed his arrival on Laddie’s Isle would be such a disaster.

He didn’t deserve the complication that was Lady Gillian.

He had enjoyed kissing her. In truth, he was almost sorry they hadn’t met somewhere else, under different circumstances. He could still taste her lips, feel her soft, warm body in his arms, held tight against him.

That was most irksome of all.

Not because he regretted kissing her, but because he wanted more.

Chapter Five

P
rickly she-witch.”
Gillian repeated Donell’s slur to herself on an angry huff. For sure, it was good if he despised her. But she’d been raised with too many brothers not to know he’d only hoped to goad her. She suspected he enjoyed deviling her, that he viewed her agitation as a game, a challenge to amuse him. Rough and uncivilized as he was, he’d seek to tame her, bending her to his will. And he was the sort who’d not leave be until she’d capitulated.

A shame for him; she’d hold her ground.

Determined to thwart him, she hitched her skirts higher, hurrying up the rocky path.

He erred if he thought to break her.

It was just a pity that her temper had set wings to her feet, sending her scurrying much too quickly up the slippery track. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to slow her pace. She could feel his stare boring into her back. She also thought he’d called after her, shouting for her to wait, but the wind and crash of the sea made it hard to be sure.

Not that she cared.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that she recognized her recklessness as she ascended to his ruined keep. A cold, stony tower better suited as nesting place for seabirds than anywhere good men should attempt to carve a home.

Knowing she daren’t look down, she did risk a glance upward. Heavy bands of dark clouds raced overhead and thick mist swirled everywhere. The wind was sharper at this height and carried the chill, wet smell of rain.

Any moment the heavens would open.

A pity such weather hadn’t swept in before Donell spotted the island.

The mist and clouds might’ve hidden Laddie’s Isle from view, causing him and his men to sail onward, sparing her this unwanted reunion.

But the gods truly had deserted her.

And the higher she climbed, the more she cursed the leather pouch of Viking treasure swinging from her belt. She’d swear the goods within tripled in weight with each step she took. Breathing hard now, she pressed a hand against her hip and leaned into the wind, not wanting to think what would happen if the ever-heavier silver coins, cut-up brooches, armlets, and rings caused her to lose her balance again. The track’s steepness was harrowing enough, the slippery stones a danger on the fairest of days.

And this day, though glorious in every way that usually thrilled her, was anything but mild.

Knowing she shouldn’t, she cast a quick glance at the rocky shore and the stormy, white-capped sea so very far beneath her. Wishing she hadn’t, she hurried on. If only Donell hadn’t kissed her, sweeping her with emotions
she’d never expected to feel for him, igniting her temper and causing her to flee.

Now…

One false step and her life would be ended, dashed to nothingness before she’d had a chance to truly live, to taste the excitement, adventure, and passion that had to be more than the sweet words spun by bards before the hearth fire on chill, dark nights.

“Damn the bastard,” she seethed, nearing one of the worst turns of the track. A spot where the cliff’s rough black shoulder reared into midair, the thrusting rocks home to swarms of wheeling, crying seabirds, and nary a one looked willing to let her pass.

Indeed, several swooped right at her, clearly aiming to maim.

“Gah!” She flung up an arm, dodging the attack. The birds veered away, screaming angrily. But her foot slipped on a loose stone, the world tilting as rock, sea, and sky merged into one, spinning crazily.

Strong hands grabbed her from behind and swung her against the cliff face. Before she could blink, Donell leaned in so close she could scarce breathe. He held her in place, his palms braced on the cold, wet rock on either side of her shoulders. He was breathing as hard as she was, his bearded face wearing a fierce, dark scowl.

“Have you nae wits, lassie?” His eyes glittered dangerously as he pressed closer, so near that the sheer strength of him almost overpowered her. His mail-covered chest kept her pinned where she was, his hard-slabbed muscles and the steel rings of his mail shirt as immoveable as the stone behind her. “Only a fool would tear up a track like this. Or can it be”—his lips brushed her ear—“that you
were so eager to share my bed, you couldn’t wait to reach my keep?”