They did the King’s dirty work, plying their trade where more fastidious men wouldn’t venture.
Roag and his crew were more daring than most Fenris.
But they had a weakness for women.
Roag was also susceptible to shapely ankles and well-rounded hips that swayed invitingly. High, full breasts that bounced and jiggled, and like any hot-blooded man, he couldn’t get enough of the dark, more intimate shadows that beckoned betwixt a comely wench’s parted thighs. The lass on the rocks offered all that and more. Even as she’d scowled across the water at him, clearly wishing him ill, her boldness had attracted him.
He knew she’d been there.
He also loved a challenge.
Nor could he deny the truth. She’d made his loins tighten, causing his manhood to twitch with appreciative, ever-growing interest.
The same thing was happening now, much to his annoyance.
Laddie’s Isle was dead ahead.
Through a break in the mist, he could even see a fine and shallow bay cut deep into the headland. The slant of the sand and shingle offered an ideal landing beach for the Valkyrie. A cascade of white waterfalls spilled down one side of the cove, and lush green grass beckoned from the top of the shadow-slashed cliffs. The beauty took his breath, and his pulse quickened. On the wind, he could smell the cold freshness of the falls, the isle’s earthy-rich peat. He inhaled appreciatively, and then released a low whistle. For sure, he’d never been anywhere so grand.
“Take heed, men! Behold our new home, for howe’er long we’re needed here. And remember”—he flashed a glance at the rowers on the crowded oar-banks—“as soon as we’ve beached the Valkyrie, I’m Donell MacDonell.”
His words raised a chorus of laughs from his men.
Then he flung up an arm, signaling them to slew the ship toward the cove. The men responded at once, his helmsman using the long steering oar to swing the craft round even as the others began back-watering the strakes. Any moment, they’d rush up onto the shore, arriving in a showy flourish, as was his crew’s style.
Pride should be swelling his heart, the promise of a new and intriguing mission for the crown whetting his appetite for adventure.
Instead, he could only stare at the golden-sanded landing beach, amazement sluicing him.
The maid of mist had returned.
She was just stepping into view around a bend in the coastline. Her flame-colored hair spilled free and wild, a gleaming mass that tumbled to her hips. Her rich green cloak blew in the wind, the shimmering fabric molding to her curves, revealing her to be even more stunning than he’d believed. She was a temptress, indeed.
And she’d brought friends.
A small army of huge, grim-faced Highlanders marched behind her onto the beach. Each one bristled with steel and looked eager to greet Roag and his men with their sword-points and ax-blades.
Only one man in the party looked pleased.
He was an older, bushy-bearded lout with the same vibrant red hair as the siren. Clearly a chieftain, the man grinned like a loon as he strode to the water’s edge, even lifting a hand in greeting. There could be no doubt he was the maid’s father. And something about his exuberance shriveled Roag’s liver.
Worse, the lass’s narrowed, angry-eyed stare warned that he wouldn’t like whatever this unexpected welcoming party had to say.
What a shame that the girl’s prickliness only intrigued him all the more.
He meant to discover what put such fierceness in her gaze.
After that…
He didn’t know. Whatever happened, he hoped it would involve her full breasts crushed against his chest, her melting sweetly into him, her soft, warm lips parting beneath his own as he kissed her, and more.
That was his desire.
However unwise.
Chapter Three
He’s arriving in style, eh?” Mungo MacGuire, Hebridean chieftain of great-hearted but rascally renown, smoothed the plaid slung proudly across his broad, barrel chest. His red-bearded face split in a grin, his gaze fixing on Donell MacDonell’s fast-approaching longship. More accurately, he kept his eye on the big, dark-haired man on the ship’s high prow-platform. “Laddie’s learned to handle a galley, he has! Belike the years away have been good to him.”
“Perhaps he’s enjoying his flourish so much he’ll sail on to impress a more appreciative audience.” Gillian was sure she wouldn’t be so blessed.
She also knew her father hadn’t heard her.
It scarce mattered that he stood right beside her.
He never paid her any heed when in the throes of one of his passions. Showy sailing and swift galleys topped his list of obsessions. Seeing her wed and out of his care ranked nearly as high. Donell’s display held him in thrall. Her brothers, standing in a small group closer to the water’s edge, appeared equally enraptured.
“It’s bluidy bold seamanship.” Andrew, her youngest brother, glanced round at her other siblings, who bobbed their heads in agreement. “No’ many can cut across such a wicked current.”
“Aye, no’ like that.” Ross, one of her middle brothers, stepped onto a tidal rock, watching appreciatively as Donell shouted orders to his oarsmen. “It’s no’ easy beaching a craft here.”
“We arrived without mishap.” Gillian advanced on them, their enthusiasm annoying her. The formidable hulk of a man at the ship’s prow irked her even more. Feeling her face heat and her pulse quicken, she stopped at the surf line, set her hands on her hips.
“The tides weren’t running so strongly then,” Gowan reminded her, ever the peacemaker.
“We’ve put ashore in worse.” Gillian knew that was debatable, but felt a need to be contrary.
Truth was they’d used a smaller, less accessible landing spot on the isle’s far side, chosen because it allowed an easier landward approach to the keep. Beaching there was a nod to the mass of supplies they’d brought along.
Skog, her aged dog, had been another consideration.
She wished the great beast was at her side now rather than up at Donell’s keep, for Skog was fiercely protective. Though old, he snarled at the first hint of a threat to her. She was sure he’d despise Donell on sight, giving him his still-fearsome growl. Unlike her family, Skog wouldn’t be impressed by a flashy show of reckless seamanship, the waves breaking along the proud ship’s keel.
Gillian turned her gaze back to Gowan. “A man would have to be full mad to sail so close to thon skerries, to fly in here so fast.”
A slow, men-aye-stick-together smile curved Gowan’s mouth. “MacDonnell doesnae look worried.”
“You’d think he’d have made for the site we used.” Gillian tilted her head and considered her eldest brother. “Surely he’ll have cargo?” She glanced down the shore, to the steep and winding track to the keep on its jutting promontory. “It’ll be hard carrying goods up the cliff path. Can it be Donell has grown addled? How can he have forgotten the easier ascent on the other side of the isle?”
“Could be he’s eager to arrive.” Gowan defended him, just as she’d expected. “Rounding the island would take longer and mean sailing through the worst skerries. We came from that direction and ken those waters well, the dangers of the submerged rocks out there.”
“The reefs have ever been here.”
“So they have. Like as no’ Donell wished to avoid them.”
“This is his isle.” Gillian wouldn’t back down. “He should know these waters better than we do.”
“Have done, lass. You’re showing claws.”
Gillian angled her chin, challengingly. “Wouldn’t you, in my position?”
Ignoring the look of reproach Gowan shot her, she shook back her hair, letting the wind blow the long, unruly strands about her shoulders. With any luck, she’d resemble a wild-maned, untamed fury. The kind of prickly, difficult female no man would want as a wife. Lifting her chin, she fixed her gaze on Donell, willing him to slew about, speed off into the mist, never to be seen again.
&nb
sp; The longship held course.
Gillian’s heart began to pound, a terrible instinct warning her that the man about to sweep so boldly into her life would change it forever.
She’d have to be strong if he wasn’t to break her.
So she hoped there was a fierce gleam in her eye, visible from the sea.
She also drew herself up, glad for her height, and the sense of purpose that let her squelch any show of weakness. She stood as still as stone, memories of her last encounter with Donell giving her the daring to stare back at him as his gaze roamed over her.
Even through the fanning sea spray, she could tell.
He was assessing her, boldly and with arrogance. His perusal made her entire body flush hotly. She burned with agitation, her blood roaring in her ears. But she’d sooner grow hooves and a tail before she’d capitulate and look aside. Worse, hide behind her family.
Traitors whose glee was scarce contained.
Her father kept some measure of dignity, waiting a bit back from the shore. But her brothers, including Gowan, were now scrambling to join Ross on the rocks so they could observe Donell’s approach.
Gillian was only annoyed.
Her unwanted future bore down on her from the sea she loved so dearly, Donell’s sleek, dragon-headed longship racing ever nearer in a froth of high-splashing white water and fast-beating oar-blades.
The craft’s wake glittered silver, a relentless arrow pointing her way.
Any moment the ship with its great square sail and shield-hung sides would flash up onto the landing beach, coming to a swift, shuddering stop even as her own world met an equally abrupt end.
Her long-lost betrothed was home at last.
And she meant to greet him with all the soft, submissive charm of a hellcat.
So why had her mouth gone so dry?
How could her nerves fail her so badly, her palms dampen as she dug her fingers into her skirts? She didn’t know, but looking at him, there at his prow, made her shiver. And not in the way she would’ve expected.
She turned her face into the cold, salt-laced wind, refusing to acknowledge the whirl of fluttery emotions awakening inside her.
Donell wasn’t a man to ignite such a reaction.
Yet…
She narrowed her eyes, studying him. He’d grown harder, appearing almost twice the size she recalled. More than that, he’d gained a rugged appeal she would’ve admired in any other man. He was also better groomed. His black hair gleamed as it blew across his shoulders, his beard was still full, but neatly trimmed. No longer looking like a haven for lice, fleas, and the remains of his dinner. It galled her to admit, but he’d turned dashing in a devilish way. His stare stayed on her, his dark eyes fierce. Raw male prowess rolled off him, his boldness heating her skin as their gazes locked.
Gillian kept her expression cool, intent on remembering who he was.
She didn’t want to find him attractive.
She’d been so sure a few costly trinkets would dissuade him, buying her freedom. Now, a gut feeling told her he’d throw back his head and laugh at her offer. That he’d claim her and her treasure.
Come what might, she’d press for the advantage, using skill, wit, and wiles, to bargain with him. She just hoped she could do so in the proud, self-possessed manner she’d intended. The well-thought-out plan she’d laid for him.
Trouble was she’d expected the Donell of old.
Now…
Already, her heart thudded against her ribs, hammering almost as loudly as the clang of his ship’s gong, the thunder of its lightning-quick oars, and the hiss of the waves along the hull.
Proving he must be half-crazed as well as much changed, Donell didn’t order his rowers to keep back-watering the sweeps as the longship sped closer. Far from it, he signaled his men to give one last great pull on the oars, a bold maneuver that sent the ship shooting up onto the landing beach in a spray of foam and pebbles.
Gillian tried not to be impressed.
Her brothers fell back, calling encouragement, belting a few whoops, cheering as one.
His gaze still on her, Donell leapt from the prow before the ship juddered to a halt.
“Ho, there!” He looked away from her to wave at her brothers, then he made for her father. His stride was long and purposeful. “What honor do I—”
“Donell MacDonell, I greet you!” Mungo met him halfway, grinning ridiculously. “The pleasure is ours! My sons and I welcome you with all the hospitality of Clan MacGuire. My daughter is most pleased.” He thrust out an arm, indicating Gillian. “She awaits you gladly.”
“Indeed, I do.” Gillian nodded once, not saying that her eagerness was only to make him a deal he couldn’t resist. That all she anticipated was bidding him farewell, watching him and his wee isle disappear beneath the horizon as she sailed away on the tide.
The image strengthened her.
So she remained where she stood, refusing to rush forward with her brothers, who formed a half-circle around him and her father.
To her relief, and inexplicable irritation, Donell didn’t encourage her to join them.
Instead, he greeted Mungo like a friend, returning the older man’s grin with a broad smile of his own.
“Mungo MacGuire!” Donell threw an arm around her father’s shoulders, embraced him as if they’d been the closest of allies. When he finally released him and stepped back, he was still smiling. “I am well pleased to see you, and your family.” He turned to Gillian’s brothers, moving along the line of them, clapping a few on the shoulder, giving one or two a friendly punch to the arm.
“Sakes! We thought you’d sailed off the world’s edge.” Blackie, Gillian’s most dashing brother, spoke what she wished had happened. Named for his dark good looks, so unlike her other brothers, Blackie welcomed Donell with a grin as wide as Mungo’s. “We set sail as soon as word of your return to Laddie’s Isle reached us.
“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—”
To Desire a Highlander Page 3