Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “You were unwise to follow me, but I’m glad you did.” He captured her wrists, lifting her arms over her head and backing her against the wall. “I want you, lass. I dinnae think I can e’er have enough-”

  The loudest burst of thunder yet cut him off, the boom accompanied by the hiss of a boar spear speeding into the room, cracking against the wall mere inches from where they stood.

  “Thor’s bleeding eyebrows!” Kendrew burst in on them, his chest heaving. “You’d be skewered if you weren’t holding my sister.” He grabbed his war ax, tossing the heavy-bladed weapon from hand to hand. “Release her and fight, the King’s peace be damned!”

  “Kendrew!” Marjory stared at her brother.

  Alasdair stepped round in front of her, shielding her.

  He glared at Kendrew. “Only you would throw a spear with a woman anywhere near,” he snarled, a red haze blurring his vision as Lady Isobel rushed forward, pulling Marjory into a corner of the room.

  Alasdair drew his sword, Kendrew already charging him, ax swinging. Alasdair raised Mist-Chaser and lunged, ready. Outside, the wind shrieked, and across the room, Marjory and Isobel cried for them to stop, but neither man paid any heed. Sword and ax clashed hard, the force of the first blow racing up Alasdair’s arm.

  One of them would die.

  The thought only made Alasdair’s blood boil the more. He also swung his sword with greater purpose. He wasn’t leaving this world. Not after coming so close to claiming his heart’s desire.

  He’d also do whatever he could to keep her safe, protect her good name.

  Even if doing so would make her despise him.

  Chapter 8

  “I warned you no’ to touch her!” Kendrew tossed aside his ax and charged Alasdair, hurtling him against the stone wall. In the small room, brute strength served better than unwieldy steel. “No threats now, brine drinker! You’ll ne’er sully-”

  “She’s no’ sullied,” Alasdair snarled, dropping his sword to grab Kendrew’s arms. They grappled, banging into a corner. “I didnae-”

  Kendrew roared. “You say she offered-”

  “She is innocent.” Alasdair tightened his grip, fury almost choking him. “I’ll cut the tongue from any man who says otherwise.”

  Kendrew jerked free, his face darkening. “You admit forcing yourself on her?”

  “I admit kissing her, touching her.” Alasdair caught a glimpse of Marjory, the horror on her face, her hair tumbling free, bright as the sun. For a beat, he felt as if he’d run into a wall, his chest squeezing, the breath leaving him. He turned back on Kendrew, spoke terse. “I’ll no’ deny what happened, that I wanted her.”

  “You tore the clothes from her!” In a blur of speed, Kendrew snatched Marjory’s gown off the floor, balling it in his fist before he flung it aside. “I should pare the skin off you, inch by bluidy inch.”

  “You can try.” Alasdair’s dare echoed in the small stone-lined room.

  Kendrew’s eyes narrowed, his Thor’s hammer pendant shining in the dimness. “No man defiles my sister.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “You did!”

  They started to circle each other, both in fighting stances. Each man flexed strong fingers, their gazes locked. Somewhere Hercules barked madly and the men crowding the door opening shouted encouragement. Warriors of each clan cheered on their hero, raucous, eager for blood. In the corner, Marjory and Isobel clung to each other, yelling for them to stop, their cries drowned out by the ruckus, the howling wind, and the distant boom of thunder.

  Alasdair kept his attention on Kendrew. Raising a clenched fist, he stepped nearer, still circling, but closing the space between them.

  Kendrew did the same. “Have you e’er seen a man that’s been skinned?” He gripped the dirk hilt rising from beneath his belt, came closer. “The sight would make you think twice before soiling a lady.”

  “He didn’t,” Marjory cried out, starting forward. Isobel grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the corner. “It wasn’t his fault. I-”

  “She tempted me, aye.” Alasdair lifted his voice over hers, loathing what he was about to say. “Any half-fetching wench would’ve done.” Anger seethed in him at the lie, the red haze swirling round him intensifying, almost alive. Like Kendrew, he reached for the dagger at his belt, leaning in so they stood beard-to-beard. “I was away nigh a year, without a woman all that time.” He growled the words, knowing he had to speak them to spare Norn’s name. “Will you deny the urges that rise in a man? Could you go without ease so long?”

  “I’d have taken a lusty kitchen lass.”

  “And so I should’ve.” Alasdair stepped back, chest heaving, bile in his throat.

  He could feel Norn’s stare without looking at her, knew he’d cut her to the quick. But now men would speak angrily of him, putting all blame on his shoulders. No one would accuse her of scandalous behavior, though some might look on her with pity. Unless…

  With lightning speed, he whipped out his dirk, closing his hand tightly around the blade as he thrust his fist toward Kendrew. “I’ll wed your sister, Mackintosh. We can end this here and now.”

  “No’ that way, we won’t.” Kendrew ignored his outstretched hand.

  Alasdair cast his dirk aside and held up his hand, displaying his bloodied palm. “Come, man,” – he glanced at Marjory and Isobel – “there was a time you’d have sworn ne’er to marry a Cameron. And I ne’er believed I’d offer for a Mackintosh.”

  Kendrew tightened his lips, saying nothing.

  Alasdair extended his dripping fingers. “A blood vow to seal the betrothal, our continued peace. We’ll agree-”

  “We agree you’re a bastard!” Kendrew knocked away his arm and drew his own dirk, jabbing the tip at Alasdair’s belly. “My sister willnae be a peace token. And the only piece of you I want is your guts spilling to the floor. Forget a truce and fight!”

  Tossing aside his dagger, he lunged, hurling himself at Alasdair. They crashed together, the impact slamming them into the wall. They grappled fiercely, beating each other with their clenched fists until they toppled to the stone floor. Somewhere, women’s screams rose and Hercules’s shrill barks were even louder as the little dog leaped into the fray, jumping and snapping at them both.

  When Hercules thrust his furry face between them, almost taking a blow, Alasdair pushed to his feet, hauling Kendrew with him. “I’ll no’ fight with a dog darting-”

  “Then out here.” Kendrew smashed his fist into Alasdair’s jaw, knocking him through the door opening and into the whirling mist of the cliff stair.

  Reeling, hot blood welling in his mouth, Alasdair almost plunged down the steps. He righted himself at the last moment and flew at Kendrew, hammering him with his own fists until he felt Kendrew’s nose crunch beneath a wild, anger-driven blow. Blood sheeted down Kendrew’s chin, but his eyes lit, as if he was enjoying himself.

  Hair wild and still on his feet, he grinned, proving it. “Your blows faze me less than chaff in the wind.” He glanced round at the men lining the steep steps, all armed with swords and axes. “Can you do no’ better?”

  Some of the men snickered. Others looked back at him hard-faced as they reached for their sword hilts, their grips white-knuckled.

  Warriors of both clans, they stepped back, making room on the narrow stair, waiting. At a nod from either chief, chaos would erupt.

  More blood would spill, men would die.

  Cold wind gusted across the steps, the blowing mist blurring edges. Only Nought’s high walls, the orange haze of torches, and the shadowy forms of men could be seen. But Alasdair knew a sheer drop loomed near. One false move, and he and Kendrew would plunge to their deaths. Their ends decided not by steel, but by Nought’s jagged rocks.

  He didn’t care.

  He did resent Kendrew’s taunt. Rolling his shoulders, he took a deep breath of the cold air, ready to knock Kendrew’s smugness out of him.

  “I’m waiting, briny.” Kendrew raised his arms, crac
king his knuckles.

  “No need.” Alasdair drove his fist into Kendrew’s ribs, rained blows on his head when he grunted and bent double under the onslaught.

  “No’ good enough,” Kendrew huffed, straightening to hurl himself at Alasdair. He started punching him with equal might and they wrestled, lurching ever closer to the stair’s abrupt drop-off.

  One of them – Alasdair wasn’t sure who – lost his footing and they toppled sideways, slamming against the hard and slippery steps. But they rolled together, not missing a blow as they hammered each other with clenched fists. Men leapt aside, making room and stamping their feet, roaring encouragement to their leader.

  “Stop them!” Marjory’s voice rose above the din. “They’ll kill each other.”

  “Enough!” Isobel called out, equally loud.

  And then both ladies were upon them, grabbing at arms and plaids, dragging them apart. When their efforts failed, they dropped to their knees, beating on them with their own fists.

  “Odin’s balls!” Kendrew jumped up, gripping his wife by the elbows, lifting her with him. “If I’d known you’d no’ let a man fight, I’d have ne’er-”

  “You’ve both fought enough.” Isobel shook herself free, dusted her skirts. “This must end here and now.”

  “Indeed, lady.” Alasdair stood, reaching to help Marjory, but she pushed up on her own. Ignoring him, she clutched her blood-red cloak about her. Alasdair stiffened, aware that she was near naked beneath it. He turned to Isobel, shoved a hand through his hair. “Your husband and I will settle this another day.”

  “I think not.” Marjory stepped forward, her chin raised. Wind whipped her hair and high color stained her cheeks. Her eyes were narrowed, cold shards of deepest blue. “Killing each other will serve naught. And” – her gaze flicked between the two men – “I’ll not have you fighting over me.”

  Kendrew’s brows snapped together. “You’ll no’ be wedding him.” He flashed an angry look at Alasdair. “I may no’ have found a husband for you yet, but I’ll be putting together a new list soon. MacDonald willnae be on it. He-”

  “I’ve no wish to wed a Norse noble.” Marjory’s tone was as chilled as the wind. “Nor will I marry Alasdair,” she added, her voice even icier. “No harm came to me this day and I prefer to forget what did happen.”

  “Norn…” Alasdair started toward her, but she raised a hand, shaking her head.

  He strode forward anyway, catching her by the waist, holding her gaze. “My offer stands, lass. It was given-”

  “I know why you made it.” She stiffened in his grasp, her eyes narrowing even more. “I bid you to leave.”

  Alasdair looked at her, wanting to say so much. Yet he wouldn’t cause her embarrassment before his men or, worse, her own kinsmen.

  He did release her, hard as it was.

  Even surrounded by men as they were, Isobel’s hovering presence, and Hercules racing around them, yipping shrilly, he wanted her badly. He could still taste her kisses, feel the silky-smooth warmth of her bared skin beneath his fingers. His awareness of her was painful, a physical ache far worse than the

  He clenched his hands at his sides, ignoring the dull throbbing, a need that stemmed from his heart as much as his loins.

  He was also sure he’d grab her and carry her away, her brother and their truce be damned, if he didn’t turn and leave at once.

  So he straightened, flung his plaid back over his shoulder. He ignored the blood trickling down the side of his face from a cut in his temple. With luck no one would guess his labored breath and heavy scowl came from wanting her so fiercely. The rage, and hot desire, that ate at him like a living, scorching flame.

  Marjory certainly didn’t know.

  Never had she looked at him with such loathing. “It grows late. I asked you to go.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” He made a slight bow, not taking his gaze off her.

  “I do.” Her voice was clipped.

  Beside her, Isobel frowned, bent to scoop Hercules into her arms.

  Kendrew grinned, dragged the back of arm over his bloodied beard. “You heard her.” He glanced at Alasdair’s men, jerked his head at the downward steps. “Be gone before I crave more blood.”

  “We’ll meet again, Mackintosh.” Alasdair turned to his foe, nodding curtly before accepting his discarded sword and dirk from one of his men.

  “Ladies.” He looked again at them both, letting his gaze linger on Marjory, glancing briefly at her sapphire ring. He knew there was more to the tale of her losing it. The thought of her being accosted by anyone, even a simpleminded, fair-going thief, made his blood boil.

  Stepping past Kendrew, he leaned close to her, spoke with all the command of his chiefly status. “You are aye welcome at Blackshore. Remember that.”

  “I shall not forget anything that transpired this day.” She spoke coolly, her face now void of emotion.

  Isobel started to say something, but Marjory took her wrist and pulled her away before she could. In a blink, they were gone, the massed bulk of the Mackintosh guards blocking their retreat from view.

  “You’ve lost her.” Kendrew’s taunt was muffled by the edge of plaid he was using to swipe at his bleeding nose. “She doesn’t want you. And I’m tired of brine tainting fine Nought air.”

  “A shame for it’s a reek hard to banish.” Alasdair smiled and stepped forward to grip Kendrew’s arm. “Dinnae say you weren’t warned.”

  Then he and his men left swiftly, no further words spoken, the mist swirling round them.

  “Did you hear him?” Marjory glanced at Isobel as they descended the dimly lit steps from Nought’s great hall to the kitchens and cellars. Unlike the turnpike stairs elsewhere in the stronghold, this one was long, narrow, and steep. Full of gloom and shadow, despite air slits cut into the walls and the placement of iron-bracketed torches at regular intervals.

  Just now, the darkness suited Marjory.

  Spears of light from the kitchen fire cast an orange glow across the foot of the stairs, the sight always making her think of the entrance to hell. Even the tantalizing cooking smells didn’t chase that impression. The fire’s roar also sounded ominous, like grumbles of angry demons.

  She wouldn’t mind joining their discourse.

  She’d sooner suffer suchlike than be trapped at the high table, listening to Kendrew’s booming account of his fight with Alasdair. It was bad enough that his men’s rumbling voices and Kendrew’s words echoed in the stairwell.

  Alasdair’s words also followed her, sluicing over her like icy water. The shock had been as startling. Stunned fury had taken her breath. Now she just felt ill. Her eyes stung and her throat was tight, burning.

  She would not cry.

  She was angry.

  “Did I hear who?” Isobel stopped on the steps, looking at her. “Kendrew? Saying he craved more blood? He was going on like a beast-”

  “Not my brother.” Marjory met her friend’s gaze. “Alasdair.” She spoke his name quickly, not liking the intimacy on her tongue. The memory of how she’d clung to him, returning his kisses, wanting so much more. “He said he’d been alone too long, without a woman’s ease. And that” – she bristled, a stab of jealousy piercing her heart – “any half-fetching female would’ve drawn his attentions.”

  “His kisses?” Isobel lifted a brow.

  “He did more than kiss me as everyone saw.” Marjory pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders, painfully aware of her hastily donned gown, her mussed hair. “To think I believed I’d seduced him. That he’d succumbed because he wanted me, desiring me above all others. That he might-”

  “Love you?” Isobel’s dark eyes glittered in the dimness. “I dare say he does. Or that he’s very near to doing so if he doesn’t already.”

  “And I say you’re mistaken.” Marjory glanced down the steps. They were almost at the bottom. She didn’t want anyone to hear them. “He doesn’t love me or any woman.” She brushed her hair off her face, frowning. It was so ha
rd to keep her voice low. “Lust drove him to kiss me. The base urges that plague all men.”

  “Pah!” Isobel took her arm, urging her into the smoky warmth of the vaulted kitchens. Several serving lads glanced their way, acknowledging them before returning to their work at a heavy oak table in the center of the room.

  “I’d tell you true, Norn.” Isobel paused as a light patter of claws announced that Hercules had caught up with them. She looked down, smiling at the little dog before turning back to Marjory.

  “I’ve seen Alasdair look at you.” She led Marjory along the wall, toward an archway in a quiet corner of the kitchen. “Just now, after the fight, his gaze was so intense, so heated, I’m surprised he didn’t scorch you. He was caught in your spell, a man torn by passion.”

  “He did singe me.” Marjory could still feel his stare. It lingered like bold, strong hands on her skin, exploring her secrets, making her shiver even now. Furious that was so, she waited as a gust a wind whistled past one of the tall, narrow windows. “And I wanted to sear him, entice and seduce him. I was prepared for anything. Then Hercules bit his ankle and” – she glanced at her dog, remembering – “I grabbed for Hercules just when Alasdair also bent. We bumped heads as we straightened and then-”

  “He kissed you.” Isobel spoke softly, glanced again at the lads cutting onions. She also looked to the far side of the kitchens where Cook stood before the huge double hearth, stirring a delicious-smelling meat broth. “For truth, I am sorry Kendrew spoiled such an opportunity. One of his men noticed the open door to the secret passage.

  “You couldn’t have closed it securely because Gronk and a few of the other dogs were sniffing about behind the tapestry that hides the ruined stair.” She switched her gaze from Cook back to Marjory. “Kendrew saw the dogs and guessed what you’d done.”

  “He would.” Marjory’s head was beginning to pound. She glanced at her hand, hoping he wouldn’t have noticed her ring had gone missing a short while.

  She wore it always.