Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  The look he gave her was like a fist to the heart. “Or will you be denying it?”

  Isobel scrambled to her feet, shoving her arms into her sleeves. “The dagger is not mine.”

  “I dinnae believe you.” Kendrew folded his arms, a different man than moments ago. His face grew as hard as the dreagan stones, his eyes as dark as the mist. “I also doubt your name is Isobel.”

  “It is.” Her heart was sinking, the night’s cold suddenly icy, the bright silver sky now gray and dismal. “The dagger belongs to my good-sister, Catriona. She didn’t think I should make the journey here without—”

  “Great Odin’s balls!” Kendrew’s brows shot upward. “You’re Isobel Cameron!” He reeled back as if someone twice his size had punched him. All color drained from his face, his expression setting off a flurry of panic inside her. “You’re Cameron’s sister. How could I not have recognized you?”

  He shook his head, disbelief rolling off him. “And now I’ve sullied you. A great regret.”

  “No.” Isobel started forward, reaching for him. “You’ve done nothing I didn’t desire.” Her voice cracked, shameful heat stinging her eyes. “I wanted to see you tonight so I slipped away—”

  “You didn’t come here to be ravished.” He slammed the ball of his palm against his forehead, pacing back and forth in front of her. “Never in my life have I lain with a virgin, a daughter of good house. I’ve prided myself on my restraint, challenged other men, even banishing a few from my guard when they caused the fall of an innocent. Now…”

  “Nothing has happened.” Isobel knew that wasn’t true.

  The world was ending.

  Pain lanced her chest, making it so hard to breathe. His rejection stunned her, plunging her into darkness. She felt chilled, hollow inside. She should have been more patient, waited until he finally heeded her brother’s invitations, came to Haven.

  Now…

  She swallowed, wishing the burning in her eyes wasn’t making it so difficult to see. “Nothing terrible happened,” she said again, trying to banish the awful look from his face. “You didn’t—”

  “I touched you.” He whirled to face her. “That’s enough. I stole your most prized possession. I—” He broke off, looking ready to murder.

  “You didn’t hurt me.” Isobel went to him, touching his arm. “Please, it is Midsummer Eve. I am fine and no harm was done. Can we not just—”

  “I don’t pillage virgins.” He jerked away from her, stepping back as if she’d scalded him. “Nor do I touch ladies of any sort. Not even the ones who’d willingly share their charms. I thought you were one of the Rannoch women. And if this hadn’t been Midsummer Eve, if I hadn’t been so muddle-headed from the revels, I’d have seen right away that you’re no common light-skirt.

  “I would’ve sent you home to Castle Haven faster than you can blink. And”—he crossed back over to her, towering above her—“that’s what I’ll be doing now. You’ll be on your way as soon as I gather a few stout men to escort you. I’d take you myself, but that’s no longer wise.”

  “You’re making a grave error.” Isobel lifted her chin, getting angry now.

  “My mistake was jumping down off Slag’s Mound.” He glared at her. “Be sure I’ll ne’er do anything so foolhardy again. For certain I’ll no’ commit such nonsense with James Cameron’s sister.”

  “I am Isobel.” She held his gaze, knew her eyes were blazing. “Simply Isobel.”

  “You are—” He snapped his mouth shut, his brows lowering in a ferocious scowl.

  “I am a woman who admired you.” Isobel kept her back straight. “I have done so a while. And this night I also desired you, greatly.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, striving for dignity. “I see no shame in what happened between us.”

  “You speak plain.” The coldness of his tone squeezed her like a vise.

  “I always do.” She lifted her brows infinitesimally. “Someday you might realize that such a quality is worth even more than a woman’s breasts, the over-ripe charms of a female who ‘greets all men gladly.’ ”

  She lifted her chin and tugged on her sleeves, adjusting them. Then, because the devil was riding her, she gave him a small, chilly smile.

  He looked at her, his mouth set in a hard, tight line. “Dinnae think to try such foolery again, Lady Isobel. I’ll no’ be responsible for my actions if you do.”

  Isobel hardly heard him.

  His words didn’t matter. It was his expression that made her heart lurch. The bitterness in his tone that let her know how much he regretted what had happened.

  Quite possibly he detested her.

  She was now more than halfway in love with him.

  And she’d ruined everything. Her only option was to get away from him, leaving his sight and land with as much pride and grace as she could muster. And that wouldn’t be easy with her eyes so bright and her chin threatening to quiver, her bodice laces still loose and her hair tumbling to her hips in wild disorder.

  She looked a fright and felt worse.

  But she was also a Cameron.

  A daughter of the Glen of Many Legends, and she did have steel in her blood. She possessed the strength of generations and an iron, unbending will. And even if she bled rivers inside, she’d be damned if anyone would know she’d been so terribly wounded.

  So she took a deep breath and shook out her skirts, preparing for a grand exit. “There were three Rannoch Moor lovelies looking for you earlier.” She used her coolest, most ladylike tone. “If you hurry, you might catch them before another of your men takes the opportunity. I do believe”—she glanced round, then pointed to the bonfires—“they went that way.”

  Not surprisingly, he looked to where she gestured.

  Isobel took advantage, hitching her skirts and marching away through the mist and rock whence she’d come. She didn’t hurry and she kept her back straight, her head high, as she made her way over the broken ground. She could feel Kendrew’s furious stare boring into her. But she didn’t glance back, not giving him the satisfaction.

  They’d meet again, she knew.

  And the next time she’d wield a more powerful weapon than lust. She knew him better now. And she suspected that the one thing he most wanted was the very thing he professed to avoid: a lady.

  She was that, as well he knew.

  He already desired her.

  Sooner or later, he’d accept what they’d both learned this night, however ghastly the encounter ended. They were perfect for each other. And their passion, now unleashed, would drive them back together.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Chapter Four

  Above the thick silence of Castle Haven, Isobel heard the thudding of her heart as loudly as if she stood again in the midst of Midsummer Eve revels, the primordial knocking of Mackintosh spears on rock still ringing in her ears. The sound followed her through the glen, as did the agitated rush of her blood. The latter increased when she’d gained enough distance from Nought territory to quicken her pace without denting her pride.

  The last thing she’d wanted was for Kendrew to see how deeply his rejection stung her.

  A lady kept her dignity always.

  Straight-backed, calm, and ever in control was her credo.

  But here, in the confines of her bedchamber and in one of the smallest, most still hours of the night, there was no one to see her. And so her emotions were in turmoil. Her heart refused to quiet. The rapid pounding would soon bruise her ribs, she was sure.

  And that would happen with good reason.

  Kendrew had made her a woman.

  They’d crossed a line. And no matter what happened now, her life was forever changed.

  Shivering in the chill air—she stood naked before her wash basin and pitcher—she reached for the cloth she’d been using to bathe herself. Even in the dim light of a single night candle, she could see that her body was now clean. But the linen bore stains. Like a man’s battle wounds, the blood smears stared up at
her, demanding redress.

  Reminding her with a rush of emotion that she had no choice but to pursue her goal of making Kendrew want her with the same fierce yearning she felt for him. Futile as her hopes now appeared, she couldn’t cast them aside with a quick flick of her wrist.

  She suspected he would think less of her if she did.

  Kendrew wasn’t a man to appreciate weakness.

  Only strength would impress him.

  A thrill raced through Isobel at the thought of how much he’d impressed her.

  She could still feel how her skin warmed beneath his hands. Echoes lingered of the delicious tingles brought on by his touch. Recalling his deep, oh-so-rousing kisses set her heart aflutter. She wanted him to pull her against him again, cupping her face and slanting his mouth over hers, ravishing her. Truth be told, she’d always want him, because any way she turned it, the answer remained the same.

  The evening’s tumult beneath the dreagan stones had been so much more than intimate embraces and desperate, scintillating kisses.

  Their desire stretched beyond pure need and fest-night carnality. Something reckless and elemental had sprung to life in her when she’d seen him cloaked in smoke and mist high atop Slag’s Mound. With his war ax glinting and a long spear clutched in his hand, he’d looked able to conquer any foe. He was a man who’d never be bested, a warrior as implacable as the rock of his land. When he’d leaped down in front of her, the world had fallen away beneath them. It’d been a moment like nothing else in her life.

  When he’d claimed her, sealing their bond with one look from his blazing blue eyes, the night’s magic was theirs. His bold gaze had branded her heart, body, and soul.

  As she’d known would happen.

  She’d just believed he’d be equally affected by her.

  Now she knew better.

  And even the solace of her much-loved bedchamber couldn’t ease the pang of acknowledging that truth. Usually, her room’s lightness swiftly chased her cares. She loved the chamber’s loftiness, set as it was near the top of the tower. And with its bright white-painted walls, tall, arched windows, and colorful silk hangings, the room was one of the finest at Castle Haven. A fire always burned in the grate, though the peats were presently little more than softly glowing embers. The earthy-rich scent of peat blended well with the strewing herbs of the floor rushes, lending a warm, cozy air.

  If her brother’s dog, Hector, visited the chamber—he was sadly absent now—the old dog’s company made her quarters all the more welcoming.

  This night, for the first time she could recall, her bedchamber felt cold and empty.

  Her pristine bed, as yet untouched, seemed to chastise her for her foolishness.

  Yet she’d started the night with such hope.

  It still beat inside her.

  Her skin prickled with annoyance. Disappointment lanced her, taunting and painful as the room’s chill swept her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, reminding her she was still unclothed.

  Trying to ignore the sting of defeat, she grabbed a length of drying linen and began scrubbing her body, dashing away the remaining droplets of water. Her brow creased when she looked down and her gaze lit on the tiny mark on the left side of her lower belly. Angled between her navel and her inky-black female curls, the dark brown mark was a beauty spot. Or so she liked to tell herself.

  It was shaped like Thor’s hammer.

  And ever since she’d first noticed the mark, she’d felt its purpose was to remind her to always follow her heart, staying true to the Nordic heritage many in her family would prefer to forget.

  Isobel remembered gladly.

  And the hammer mark was one reason she’d believed her attraction to Kendrew would blossom into the grand and passionate love she’d been so sure they’d find together. She trusted her instinct as surely as she put faith in Catriona’s enchanted ambers.

  But the necklace didn’t warn against broken hearts.

  And Kendrew hadn’t even glimpsed her Thor’s hammer beauty mark.

  She doubted he’d have cared.

  She’d have to make him.

  There could be no doubt he desired her. Now she’d have to prove she offered more than a sensual challenge. That she was strong, bold, and capable of great daring. A woman worthy of walking at a warrior’s side, her head high and pride in her heart.

  She was that woman.

  The problem was that having failed at the revels she didn’t know where to go from here. They’d forged a history and it wasn’t just deeply intimate, but awkward. A debacle filled with searing passion, harsh words, and charged with unpleasantness. Yet now more than ever, she knew they belonged together.

  Their brief moments of bliss had been wilder, more exhilarating than her most brazen, uninhibited imaginings about him.

  She even admired his refusal to soil a lady.

  Much as that particular trait thwarted her plans.

  Wishing he weren’t quite so noble, she tossed aside the drying cloth and pulled a fresh chemise over her head. Who would’ve thought desire and yearning could sweep her to such heights and then send her plummeting into a dark, painful abyss all in one night? She’d hoped a touch of Midsummer Eve magic would’ve worked in her favor, aiding her plan of temptation and helping her to seize the love and happiness she’d waited for so long.

  Now…

  She smoothed her chemise into place and moved to the window arch, wishing she could begin her adventure again, but knowing that, even if such a wonder were possible, she wouldn’t change anything she’d done.

  If need be, she’d admit to Catriona and Marjory that they were right to warn her away from Kendrew. That she wasn’t likely to fulfill their sworn pact. Her choice weakened their vow to secure glen peace. All that she knew in her heart, and the truth weighed on her.

  But she refused to feel shame.

  Instead she embraced each memory she and Kendrew had made this night. They’d caught fire, intimacy coming swift, shocking, and wondrous. Even now, need burned inside her. Images of his smile, him reaching for her, flashed across her mind, heating her blood.

  She could feel his embrace, their desire flaming.

  His big, strong hands gliding over her, gripping her waist, then splaying his fingers across her hips, pulling her roughly against him…

  “Dear, sweet mercy.” She bit back a sigh, took a deep, steadying breath. Starlight shone through the window, glossing her bedchamber’s lime-washed walls. Chill air poured inside, lifting tapestry edges and scenting the room with pine. She longed for the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat and the tang of cold, damp stone. The rush of Kendrew tightening his arms around her.

  She could almost taste his kisses.

  Restless, she stepped deeper into the window alcove, her heart tripping as she placed her hands on the ledge. The night remained magical, the whole of the glen washed in silver and blue. Wind whistled through the pines, the familiar sound soothing her. The pleasant scent of damp, pungent earth teased her senses. And the heavens still shone like mother-of-pearl, the low clouds gleaming as if lit from within. A soft red haze glimmered in the distance where Kendrew and his warriors were likely still knocking their spears on stone.

  She refused to think what else they might be doing.

  She did lean out the window, welcoming the cold night air on her skin. Chill wind raced around the curved tower, rippling her hair and reminding anyone awake at this unholy hour that even at high summer, the long cold nights of autumn would soon be upon them.

  Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Autumn was when she’d vowed she and Kendrew would wed. After tonight, she doubted he’d even speak to her again.

  She’d made a muddle of her dreams.

  Worse, she’d endangered a vital oath, damaging a link that would’ve been solid if she’d chosen a man less obstinate and wild than Kendrew.

  The men, women, and children of her clan might not know of the pact with her friends. But their ability to sleep at ease depended on the plan’s s
uccess. Centuries of unrest proved the fragility of truces. One false word or narrow-eyed look could throw fat onto the feud-fire. Old grievances would flame anew, possibly unquenchable. Her bond with an enemy husband should’ve strengthened glen peace.

  She couldn’t fail.

  But before she could decide her next move, something stirred in the trees beneath her window. A large dark shape similar to the hazy form she’d glimpsed near the Rodan Stone on the boundaries of Nought land.

  “Dear saints…” She gripped the stone ledge of the window.

  Her breath snagged and the fine hairs on her nape lifted. The figure—whatever it was—drifted from tree to tree, little more than a deeper blur against the shifting mist. Yet real enough to chill her insides and send a flurry of shivers rippling down her spine.

  But when she blinked, the shadow was gone.

  Someone was in the room with her.

  She straightened, her senses alert. The rustle of movement was unmistakable, as was the sound of the door scraping across the floor rushes, then the soft stirrings of a woman’s skirts.

  Isobel released the breath she’d been holding. Relief swept her. No dark shadow-form had slipped from the pinewood and crept up the stairs to her bedchamber. A waft of gillyflower perfume revealed her visitor’s benevolence.

  “Catriona.” Isobel swung about to face her friend. “You startled me.” Her nerves were jumping. “It’s late. I didn’t think—”

  “Did you see him?” Catriona closed the door behind her, her eyes glinting in the room’s dimness. “Was he on the dreagan stones? Naked?”

  “He was.” Isobel could see him still. And she was surely flushing crimson. So she turned her coolest gaze upon Catriona and hoped she wouldn’t notice her discomfiture. “You should be abed at this hour.”

  “Pah! You should’ve been more careful.” Catriona thrust her rushlight into an iron ring on the wall by the door and came into the room. “I told you no good would come of such folly. You were seen.”