The Highlander’s Dare

by Eliza Knight

  Seething, she turned away from the tent and marched back up toward the castle before she found one of his weapons and drew it on him. He was supposed to be her savior, her way out of a disastrous betrothal, and now he sought to turn the tables on her?

  Nay, correction. He had successfully turned the tables on her from the very beginning, knowing from the moment he’d first met her that he intended to seduce her and steal her away from Baston. Every move, word, gesture—from that first pour of wine and devilish grin, to waiting for her in the corridor somehow knowing she’d leave the great hall to find him. How had he guessed?

  How had he been able to break down her defenses so quickly and cause her to fall so recklessly, heedlessly, into his trap? And lord had he… With every kiss, every touch, she’d felt the fortifications around her heart crumbling. Even now, she’d gone to the tent eager to tell him that tonight they would move into the final phase in her plan, which was an assignation. And oh how she’d been longing to feel his mouth on hers again. How he would have laughed to hear her say she wanted him to kiss her.

  Heat filled her cheeks as mortification set deep, and at the same time, anger made her tremble.

  She’d been willing to go so far as to give him her virginity for the sake of losing the betrothal. And Graham Sutherland would have taken that prize, gobbled it down like any other treat and kept moving on with his plan: wedding her, and likely discarding her as soon as her dowry showed up on Sutherland shores.

  If he so much as thought she was going to agree to wed him, he was a bloody fool. Or she was because even knowing he was betraying her, there was a tiny part of her that thrilled at the idea of being his wife. Of waking to see his profile every morning. Of falling asleep near his heat.

  But she was only a pawn in the Sutherland twins’ game. They were after coin, nothing more, and she just so happened to be the treasure chest he was raiding. Undoubtedly, he’d toss her aside, and the dreams of falling asleep and waking beside him were just that—unrealistic fantasies. Was that any different than Baston? Not really. The only major distinguishing factor was that she was in love with Graham.

  Hopelessly. Irrevocably. In love.

  Hot, angry tears stung the backs of her eyes. She loved him, and she wanted him. And the idea of marrying him, even if he was using her, sounded more pleasant than the inevitable heartbreak of returning to Normandy without him at her side. Or worse, being imprisoned in a marriage with Baston.

  Oh, how she hated him and loved him all at once.

  And maybe that was why she shouldn’t allow him to be the one she had an assignation with. Any of these other knights would do. The point of the scheme was to be caught in a compromising position, and for Baston to toss her aside.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Who was she kidding? She’d no more allow any other knight to kiss her than Baston himself.

  Frustration grated through her veins. Perhaps it was best to simply arrange passage back to Normandy. But that was a lot easier to think about than put into action. There were ships involved, and she knew not the tiniest bit about procuring a ship, let alone an entourage to take her back home to the other side of the channel.

  She was stuck here because her aunt and Prince John would not allow her to leave. Clara realized at that moment, she was a prisoner on three sides: one to her family, two with Baston, and now three to Graham who had her heart.

  Despair filled her, for there really was no way out of her situation, and this entire plan of hers had been silly and childish, doomed from the start.

  She set her foot on the first stair headed up into the castle when she heard her name being called from behind. The voice was distinct, guttural, Scots.

  “Clara, my soon-to-be wife,” Baston boomed. “Good news, we shall wed tomorrow night for all the guests of the tourney to celebrate.”

  She pretended not to hear, rushing up the stairs and inside before he could catch up to her. Wed tomorrow? That was too early!

  “Lady Clara!” Baston called. “Come back! Did ye hear me?”

  She slipped inside the castle; her heart pounding so hard it drowned out nearly every other sound. Why did he say tomorrow? Why the urgency? Why would they not wait until Sunday as planned for the end of the tournament and everyone dispersing, including her? She should run away. Now. Just take off. She could sew, perhaps take up a position as a seamstress in a remote village where Baston would never be able to find her.

  Clara attempted to rush past the great hall, only to be called out by several ladies who wanted her opinion on the dresses they should all wear to the melee the following day. She tried to make herself smile and offer genuine responses, but she could barely think, and everything she said sounded garbled. By the time she made it to her chamber, she was in near hysterics. She stumbled through, slammed the door closed and leaned her head back against the wood, eyes closed. Except it felt as though she were not alone. She blinked her eyes open rapidly.

  Standing before her window, leaning against the stone with his arms crossed over his chest, was Graham. He had a nonchalant stance about him, and a curious raise of his brow.

  “What are you doing in my chamber?” She looked swiftly about for her maid, but the lass was not present. Of all the times to be missing… Her maid was normally there all the time, even when she wasn’t needed.

  “She’ll no’ be back for a while,” Graham offered.

  Clara narrowed her eyes, irritated. “That is not what I asked.”

  “But it is what ye were thinking, lass.”

  She hated that he could read her mind. Clara crossed her arms over her chest and considered leaving. “What do you want?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are ye afraid of me?”

  “Nay. Never.” Just really, really angry.

  “Then why are ye backing away?” He pushed off the wall, his long legs marching toward her with stealthy purpose.

  Every step closer, the hotter she felt, the more she trembled—but not with fear, with anger. Mostly at herself. A foot away, he stopped. Studied her, raking from head to toe with his gaze. A shiver of pleasure passed through her, her body betraying her mind, and she just wouldn’t have it.

  And so, Clara determined she must speak out.

  “I… I heard what you said. And I’ll not be your pawn. I’m through with being a pawn to Scottish brutes. I’m returning to Normandy tomorrow morning.” This was a lie, of course; she was simply just going to pack up her things and run away.

  “My pawn?” Graham caught her gaze in his, having the audacity to look earnest. “What are ye talking about?”

  “Do not lie to me, Graham. We were supposed to be friends, remember?”

  “Och, lass.” He closed the distance, separating them now only by a few inches as he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “We’ve no’ been friends for a while now.”

  His words had the power to crush her heart. Why didn’t he just shove his fist into her chest and rip out that pathetic organ? Put her out of her misery forever.

  Tears gathered again, and she felt like a fool. A weak, silly little idiot.

  “When I kiss ye, when I look at ye, when I hear your voice, the last thing I think of is how I want to be your friend.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a low growl as if he were fighting to keep the words inside, and they escaped anyhow.

  And their meaning was not lost on her, making her eyes go wide, and that traitorous heart leap in her chest. These were not the words she expected. These words confused her, gave her hope, and wasn’t that unfair? How cruel of him.

  “What do you mean?” she found herself asking, her tongue betraying her heart.

  “I want to wed ye. I want ye to be mine. I want to take ye away from Baston and any other bastard who would dare lay a claim to ye. I want ye, Clara de Montfort, as my own.”

  Words she’d longed to hear. Words that had the power to sink her completely. For she knew them to be the words of an actor, a man who simply sought to gain what he wanted from her and
nothing more.

  “Why do you want me?” She had to hear him say it because a quarter-hour or more ago she’d heard him say he needed her for the coin, to save his clan, and if that were what he wanted, she’d give it all to him. But she needed to save her heart for herself.

  “Because ye’re a brave lass who’s willing to take on the wrath of men and countries to get your way.”

  Brave. She didn’t feel very brave right now.

  “Because ye’re witty and clever, and every time ye open your mouth, I’m surprised by what comes out, and I like that.”

  Oh, dear God, her heart was melting. Just even thinking that word—melting—steeled her resolve, however, because she remembered his words about her melting in his hands.

  “I do not want you,” she said, stiffening, shoulders squared, chin up. She felt the lie on her tongue as surely as it must show on her face.

  He saw right through her. “I want ye because even in the face of a lie, ye hold tight to your convictions.”

  “I want you to leave my chamber, and I never want to speak to you again.” Clara used her most haughty, dismissive tone.

  “I want ye because of your passion, your resolve, your steadfastness. Your stubbornness.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers, and all of the things he said he liked about her turned to mush.

  Clara worked hard to keep her knees from buckling. She worked hard not to kiss him back. Not to touch him, not to shout “aye, take me now.”

  “I heard what you said to your brother, in your tent. How you want me for vengeance. For coin.” There, she’d said it, blurted it out, and now he would say she was right, and he’d leave, or he’d break her heart.

  A light flamed in his eyes, understanding dawning, but instead of backing away, instead of quickly feeding her excuses, he grinned.

  “Shall I add ‘little spy’ to the reasons why I love ye, lass?”

  Love?

  Clara gulped, her heart surging up into her throat.

  “Aye, lass, I love ye. I love ye so much I feel like a bloody damn fool every time I so much as think of ye. I love ye so much I’m standing here telling ye so, words that have never left my lips to anyone, save my mother.”

  He loved her. Clara was speechless. Was this another ploy? Was this him trying to get out of whatever corner she’d backed him into?

  “You do not love me,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I do.”

  “You cannot love me.”

  “But I can, and I do.”

  “Nay.” She shoved against his chest. “You cannot. We’ve known each other less than a sennight.”

  “Doesna matter. My heart beats faster whenever ye’re around, and the thought of ye going off with Baston, to his bed, to his castle, bearing his children and wiping his bloody face when he’s an old bastard, fills me with rage.”

  “’Tis jealousy. I’m merely a means to an end for you.”

  “Nay,” he said, his face going serious, his eyes locked on hers in an intensity she felt deep in her bones. “Ye are the beginning for me, Clara.”

  She was his beginning.

  Clara leaned against the door now, needing the solid support of the wood to hold her up. How could he say such beautiful things to her?

  “Graham, I…” Her voice cracked with emotion.

  Again, he closed the distance between them. Pressing his hands to the wood on either side of her, he leaned down, his forehead on hers. “Tell me ye dinna want me.”

  She opened her mouth, prepared to tell him just that. But the words wouldn’t come because her heart wouldn’t let her.

  “Tell me I shouldna kiss ye right now.”

  But she couldn’t tell him that either.

  “Say something, love, anything.”

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  “Ye love me.”

  But she didn’t say it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips to his, showing him how much she did not hate him, telling him without words, how very opposite she felt.

  When they broke for air, a tumble of words fell from his lips. “I know what ye heard and how it sounds, but if ye were listening to it all, ye would have heard me tell my brother that I love ye. I fell in love with ye from the first eye roll, lass, and I’d have fallen for ye even if ye were poorer than a mouse. Aye, the coin will help my family, but my brother has secured enough to save the clan. I want ye—I dinna want your coin, and I’ll even tell your da as much if it makes it better.”

  Her heart leapt, and she kissed him again, giving him all of her in that one moment. Body, soul. She loved him desperately. Wanted to believe everything he said, did believe everything he said. This was her Graham. Her love. She wanted him for life. Wanted all the things he offered. Wanted to be his wife. Needed him to declare his intentions right then and there before either one of them lost the nerve. “Ask me, Graham.”

  Graham pulled away then, staring at her with an intensity that melted her whole. And then slowly, he bent down on one knee. “Lady Clara, will ye do me the honor of kicking Baston to the side, and taking this poor second son as your husband instead?”

  Clara nodded. “Aye, but there are some things you must know first.”

  “Anything ye could tell me would no’ change my desire to wed ye.” Graham rose to his feet with her hands grasped in his.

  “You’re aware of the betrothal, the dowry.”

  “Aye.”

  “I believe there might be something more to it.”

  Graham’s eyes shuttered, locking her out of his thoughts. “What do ye think?”

  “You know something.” She did not ask the question but stated it for the fact that it was.

  “I may know something.”

  “What?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and seemed to be searching for the right words.

  “Out with it, Sutherland.”

  “I heard a rumor the Ross brothers were part of a coup with Prince John against King Richard.”

  Clara nodded. “That makes sense. I am the payment, or rather my father’s coin is the payment, for the Ross army.”

  “Did ye know anything about this before ye came to England?” There was no inflection in his tone as he hid away all of his deliberations.

  Clara flashed an irritated glance his way, wishing she could read his mind. “Of course not. Are you accusing me of such?” Why did that notion hurt so much more than it ought?

  Graham shook his head vehemently. “Nay.”

  “But the thought crossed your mind.” She chewed her lip.

  “As it would anyone’s.”

  Clara pursed her lips, about to be offended, but she realized that he had a point. She’d have thought the same thing if she were in his shoes.

  “Ye mentioned there were a couple of things,” Graham urged.

  A shudder passed through her. She’d nearly forgotten, forcing herself not to think about Baston and what would happen if he got everything he wanted.

  “Baston plans to wed me tomorrow night.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and once she’d said them aloud, her heart started to hammer, and her breaths came uneasy. It was as if keeping them bottled up had made them impossible but voicing them aloud brought them into reality.

  Graham’s face clouded. “After the melee.”

  A slash of fear batted at her spine. “You’re to fight him in the melee?”

  “Aye. I believe he plans to kill me. He has an idea of my feelings for ye, my plan to steal ye away, and he intends to make sure I canna do it.”

  Clara shook her head. “Nay, you cannot die.”

  He grinned down at her, brushing his lips over hers. “Nay, I canna, else I’ll never get to kiss ye again, and I’ve come to learn that kissing ye is my favorite thing.”

  And with that, he swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply, claiming her, and wiping from her mind, any more thoughts of Baston Ross.

  10

  There was something different about this kiss,
and Graham knew it the moment he pressed his mouth to hers. The passion that had been building up inside them both for days was reaching a head. They’d confessed love, planned to wed and planned to defeat Baston Ross. There was nothing they would allow to keep them apart. Nothing had kept them from making promises of the heart—what was to stop them if they were to make those same promises in body?

  But Graham could not take what she hadn’t offered.

  Reluctantly, he broke their kiss, pressing his forehead to hers he tried to catch his breath. “I want ye, lass.” His voice was deep, guttural, filled with the pent-up need he’d been about to unleash. “I want to make love to ye… but we should wait until we’ve been properly wedded.”

  This was a gallant offer. The most decent thing he could say. Brave too, considering the blood rushing through his veins, and the way his cock had sprung to life, hard and pulsing, begging to sink inside her silken heat. Graham drew in a ragged breath.

  Mayhap it would be a good idea to visit the river for a cold dunk. Anything to get his mind of her lush curves and the way he imagined her creamy flesh would look when he laid her bare on the bed.

  Clara’s hands slid from his hair, bracing against his shoulders. God, he loved the way it felt when she touched him.

  “But…” she said, her voice breathy, enough to make his knees feel weak. “Do we have to?”

  That simple question, spoken so innocently, sent a fresh wave of desire rushing through him. Did they have to? God help him…

  “Nay, we dinna have to wait, but I’m trying to do the chivalrous thing by ye, lass.”

  Clara’s palms pressed to his face. “I love you, Graham. Nothing is going to change that. I want to marry you. Nothing will change that, either.”

  “Ye trust me.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so much like he was in awe, but he was.

  “Should I not?” Her tone was teasing.

  “Ye should have run away from me a sennight ago,” he mused, capturing her lower lip with his teeth.

  “I do not think I could run away from you if I tried. My body would betray me and turn right back around despite my demands. Ruled by my heart, you see.”