The Guardian (Highland Heroes Book 1)

by Maeve Greyson

  She could feel the heat of his breath stroking her skin, his lips tickled the backs of her fingers as he spoke. “When someone entrusts themselves to my care, I dinna take their trust lightly.” He kissed her hand again, then gifted her with a seductive smile. “And I always protect what I claim as mine.”

  Mercy’s breath caught as she found herself ensnared in his gaze. Dark. Brooding. Fierce. Danger flashed in his eyes like lightning reflecting across a stormy sea. She allowed her thumb to stroke against the roughness of his hand. Calloused. Experienced. Strong. What wonders could such a man teach her? Did he truly mean to claim her, or was this just a part of their agreed upon guise?

  A rustling outside the tent caught her attention. A faint shadow danced along the wall of the shelter, the silhouette of a person outlined on the canvas by the campfire in the distance. Mercy’s heart fell. What a fool she was. Graham was but playing to the crowd as he’d advised her to do. How stupid she was to think his attentions were genuine. It was all an act to protect them both. Fine. She could do the same and accomplish the task as well as him.

  She leaned across the table, clasped his hand between both of hers, and turned it so she might examine his palm. Keeping her voice loud enough to be heard by any who might be near but low enough to be considered private, she locked her gaze with Graham’s as she tickled a fingertip down the center of his palm. “Our hands hold our life’s story. Did you know that?”

  “T-truly?” Graham’s control slipped a bit. “And what might my hand tell ye?” he asked, then cleared his throat.

  She rested her four fingertips atop the callouses at the base of Graham’s fingers, taking some small satisfaction in the fact that Graham’s palm had grown damp and he appeared unsettled. “Yours are the hands of a warrior,” she said, then stroked the lines mapping his skin, noting with satisfaction that he jerked every time she moved her fingers. “A ticklish warrior.” She bubbled out a flirtatious laugh, then pressed a kiss to the center of his open hand, tasting his skin with her tongue.

  “God Almighty.” A pained groan escaped him as he shifted in his seat. He yanked his hand away and scrubbed it back and forth atop his kilt-covered thigh.

  “A problem, dear sir?” Mercy assumed as innocent a look as she could muster.

  “I thought ye said ye’d never done this before?” Graham said from between clenched teeth.

  “I haven’t.” Mercy glanced out the entryway and leaned across the table. “Am I doing it right?”

  “Aye, lass.” Graham emptied his glass, refilled it, then emptied it again. “If ye do any better, I’ll be in dire need of one of two things.”

  “And what might those things be?” Mercy lifted her glass in a proud toast to herself. She’d managed it. Gotten under his skin.

  Graham thumped down his glass, then stood. He studied her. His massive chest shifted with a deep intake of breath, then he strode around the table, and pulled her up into his arms. One hand at the small of her back and the other to the back of her head. He held her close, gazing down into her eyes. “I’ll either need a swim in an icy loch or your embrace, m’lady. And since we’ve no loch nearby…”

  Before she could respond, Graham silenced her with a kiss.

  Mercy shuddered in his arms, reveling in the array of sensations he sent coursing through her. Such strength. Such fierce hunger. The hard length of his body pressed against hers triggered an almost unbearable urgency of her own. He tasted of wine and endless possibilities. She grew bolder, clutching him tighter as she opened to the kiss and flicked her tongue in a wanton swipe against his. He pulled her harder against him, and she was thankful. If not for the strength of his hold, she surely would have collapsed by now.

  A throat cleared at the entrance to the tent, shattering the spell. “Your supper is ready, m’lady.”

  Mercy couldn’t contain the sigh of regret that escaped her when she sank away from Graham’s embrace. Holding to the back of her chair for support, she turned and faced the intrusion to what had definitely been the most wondrous thing she’d experienced up to this point in her life. She blinked and struggled to regain the ability to speak. Lowering herself into her chair, she politely motioned for Graham to do the same. “Thank you, Janie. We’re quite famished. Are we not, Graham?”

  “Ye have no idea how famished, lass,” Graham said, his unwavering gaze searing into the depths of her soul. “No idea at all.”

  Chapter Eight

  The water of the River Teviot couldn’t be cold enough to suit him. Stripped of his clothes, Graham dove forward, submerged completely, and swam upstream. The fight against the current felt good as it strained his muscles and pushed him. He prayed the battle against the water would wear him down and get that tempting woman off his mind if only for a wee spell.

  He came up for air. Whipping his hair back from his face, he sank into the water until his nose and eyes were just above the waterline, treading to stay afloat. He scanned the bank. Good. No one around but Duncan floating on his back in the part of the river catching the last of the afternoon sun.

  Camp was farther downstream. Doughal and Percy were armed and standing guard. Graham doubted anything would happen. He and Duncan had canvassed the area well and deemed it peaceful enough for the pair of wagon drivers to protect it with no problem. As Graham swam around the bend, a flash of color halted him.

  It was Mercy. The very temptation from which he’d sought relief.

  He eased back into the shadows of the tall grasses growing at the river’s edge. A gentleman would leave the lady to her ablutions. Graham smiled. He’d warned the lass on several occasions that he was not a gentleman.

  Janie stood on the opposite bank in front of her mistress, helping Mercy step out of her trew-like skirt. Mercy’s jacket and corset were already draped over the crook of Janie’s arm, leaving Mercy blessedly bare from the waist up and soon from the waist down. Mercy straightened and freed her long dark tresses.

  Graham swallowed hard. What a vision. Tall. Lithe. Curves as delicate and fine as a perfect blossom, and skin as fair as the ivory of a lily. Her black hair tumbled down her back, falling well below the sweet curve of her bottom and almost touched the backs of her knees. She turned and faced him, wading out into the water.

  Graham clenched his teeth to keep from groaning aloud. Pert breasts, smallish but perfect with dark nipples tightened by the chill of the river. She disappeared under the water, the creamy whiteness of her skin shimmering just beneath the surface.

  Sweet Mother of God. She was headed straight for him.

  Graham backed deeper under the riverbank grasses, his toes squishing into the sticky mud and his arse hitting the knobby, protruding roots of a tree growing along the bank. What would the lass think if she discovered him? Graham knew damned well what she’d think. A grin overtook him as he followed her movement beneath the water. He was wicked—although not the dangerous sort of wicked.

  She broke through the surface, eyes closed, back arched, and head thrown back. With a kick of one long leg, she pushed herself to her back and floated with those tempting breasts sitting above the surface of the water. The woman moved with the grace of a selkie. Mayhap she was one. Graham wouldn’t be shocked if Mercy transformed into a seal right before his eyes. The woman was beauty personified, ideal for any myth or legend.

  As she came closer, Graham couldn’t retreat any further, so he did his best to shift sideways. A root caught on his shoulder and bounced back into place with a loud splash.

  Mercy righted herself and faced him. Her eyes flared wide and her mouth tightened in shock.

  “It’s no’ what ye think, lass,” Graham whispered, taking care to stay among the long grasses. Janie still stood on the opposite shore waiting for her mistress. “Just stay calm.”

  “Stay calm?” she repeated with a hiss. “I find you spying on me while I bathe, and you expect me to stay calm? And Janie’s right over there. What if she sees you?” She attempted to cross her arms over her breasts but sank deepe
r in the water. Bouncing back up, she did her best to keep her chin even with the surface and everything else covered.

  Graham could still see the delightful flickering of her lovely breasts in the clear water.

  “Is this part of your plan to make everyone believe we’re involved? Don’t you feel this might be a bit drastic?” Mercy’s frantic whisper had shifted to a chiding tone that made him want her even more.

  Graham couldn’t resist. He risked floating a bit closer. “I think it a fine plan, m’lady.”

  Stealing a glance back at Janie, Mercy shooed him back. “It is not. I insist you behave yourself. Rumored to be involved is one thing. Acting as forbidden lovers is quite another.”

  “Is there something in the grass, m’lady?” Janie called from the shore.

  “Uhm…yes. I think it’s just a water vole, Janie,” Mercy shouted back. “A common rat!” she added with a stern arch of a brow at Graham. But the high color in her cheeks and the glint in her eyes told him maybe the lady didn’t mind his presence so much after all.

  Graham held his breath to keep from laughing out loud. “Come closer,” he whispered. “I dare ye.”

  “I will not!”

  “Aye, but your voice betrays ye, lass.” Graham wiggled his fingers, motioning her toward him. “’Tis excitement and the need for adventure I hear. Come, give me one kiss, then I swear I’ll let ye bathe in peace.”

  “Shall I fetch one of the lads with a pistol, m’lady?” Janie shielded her eyes as she peered across the water.

  “No, Janie.” Mercy’s unease disappeared and a plotting smile curved up the corners of her mouth. “It fears me more than I fear it.” Her eyes narrowed into a competitive, daring look that shot a dangerous hot surge of hope through Graham. “But if you could fetch my sketchbook, please. I should love to get its likeness down on paper before I forget what it looks like in the wild.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Janie draped the remainder of Mercy’s undergarments over a nearby bush, then scrambled up the low embankment and disappeared into the trees.

  Mercy floated around to face Graham. “One kiss and you will leave me be—that’s what you promised, yes?”

  “Aye,” Graham said low and slow. What dangerous game did the minx plot?

  Holding up a finger to keep him at bay, Mercy shook her head. “Oh no. You have always been a man of your word, and I expect you to continue.” Her teasing smile grew. “You may not touch me with anything but your mouth. A kiss is your fee. A kiss and nothing more you shall have. Agreed?”

  The wily lass intrigued him. How could he refuse? “Aye, lass. Agreed.” He held out his arms and kept himself in place by curling his toes into the mud. “I am ready, m’lady.” The woman had no idea how ready.

  With a last glance at the opposite bank where Janie had disappeared, Mercy swam closer, coming to a stop in front of Graham. Resting her fingertips atop his shoulders, she grew brazen and smoothed her palms down along his muscles, her gaze following her hands as she stroked from his upper arms to his throat.

  Graham didn’t say a word, just watched her rapid intake of breath and the way she wet her mouth as she touched him. The lass wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she longed to satisfy her curiosity. It heated his heart as well as a few other parts—cold water be damned—to know that she’d never been like this with any other man.

  Graham held true to his word. Although it nearly killed him, he kept his arms outstretched and waited. She inched closer. If this didn’t end him, nothing would. He leaned into her the slightest bit, connecting his mouth with hers.

  Her fingers laced up into the back of his hair, her nails tickling into his scalp as she deepened the kiss. Graham fueled all his need into the sweet taste of her, entwining his tongue with hers, and fully possessing her luscious mouth. One of her legs brushed against his flank and a groan escaped him, vibrating against her lips.

  Fists clenched, Graham kept his arms extended though he ached to embrace her, love her proper. When Mercy pulled away, he wanted to yank her back and never let her go. “Damn fine kiss, m’lady,” he forced out in a rasping whisper.

  Mercy didn’t answer, just searched his face with an unreadable gaze while she shuddered in a deep intake of breath. Her pulse pounded, twitching at the base of her throat, and Graham ached to graze his fingertips across it. “I…must go now. Janie will return any moment.”

  She pushed away, paddling back to the other side of the river.

  Launching himself off the riverbed, Graham dove back downstream. Stroke after long-armed stroke, he swam hard and fast until he’d returned to where he’d started and walked up the embankment to his clothes. The chill water did its job of easing his man parts. A good thing since Duncan waited for him, sitting on the rocky beach, sunning like a selkie.

  “Enjoy your swim, brother?” he asked as he rose from his place on the beach and stretched like a cat awakening from a nap.

  Mere words could not describe that swim. Graham grunted and walked to the shrub where he’d draped his clothes. He’d never been good at games. He needed help for certain with this one, lest it become more than just pretense.

  *

  Mercy sat on the river bank and twisted the water from her hair, thankful for the slight breeze cooling the moisture off her skin. What on earth had she been thinking to do such a thing? She pulled in another deep breath and blew it out, struggling to calm her mess of emotions. If Mama had been here, she would have dragged her straight back to camp with a severe scolding the entire way.

  A sad smile pulled at her mouth. If Mama and Akio had been here, Mercy and Graham would have already found themselves in front of a priest after their first heated look. A nude swim would never have happened until they were a proper man and wife. A fearful shudder chased away the scandalous idea. No. Father would never permit such. He would use the incident to incite a massacre of the MacCoinnichs. A sickening dread washed across her. How could she be so reckless? How could she even think of placing Graham and his kin in such danger?

  Because the longer she was with him, the more she… Her thoughts muddied worse than the water’s edge where her toes wiggled in the silt of the river. The more she what? Mercy yanked on her corset and managed her own ties, then rinsed her feet. She didn’t dare even think the word. She’d known the man but a few weeks, and why on earth would he wish to trouble himself with someone such as her?

  Her hands shook as she pulled her split skirt with sewn-in petticoats from the bushes. Maybe she had only known Graham for a mere few weeks, but she’d witnessed more trust and more honor in him than she’d witnessed in anyone other than her brother in her entire life. And if she escaped Father and London society, would she be such a burden? After all, Graham had said the past was the past, and he hated political maneuvering as much as she.

  She fastened her clothes and stared across the river at the place where Graham had hidden. Warmth spread down to her core. How could she have behaved in such a brazen manner? “Because when I am with him, I want to feel everything,” she whispered. “He makes me fearless—and hopeful.”

  Twigs snapped and leaves rustled, pulling Mercy from her yearnings and forcing her attention on the copse of trees behind her. Janie tromped out from between a pair of leafy saplings, Mercy’s sketchbook tucked under one arm and her hands clasping multiple bundles and baskets. “Since you didn’t eat this morning, I thought you might enjoy a bit of food here whilst you sketched your animal you found.”

  The gesture touched Mercy’s heart. “How thoughtful, Janie, thank you.” Mercy helped with the bundles, then settled herself on the blanket Janie spread across the grass. She tucked her feet up beneath her, Graham’s kiss still foremost in her thoughts. “Did you happen to see, Graham? He might like to join me to share this lovely repast.”

  Janie gave her a sharp look and returned to unwrapping parcels of cheese and small slices of brown bread smeared with creamy butter. “I didn’t see Master MacCoinnich, m’lady.”

  Mercy accep
ted a cup of honeyed wine, studying Janie over the rim as she sipped. Had Janie known it was Graham in the grasses and not a water vole? “Have you ever seen a water vole, Janie?” Pointing to the other side of the river, Mercy motioned toward the now infamous clump of grass curtained over the water. “If you watch that area right there, you might spot it.”

  “I don’t much care for rats, m’lady.” Janie busied herself with positioning the bits of bread and cheese within Mercy’s reach, then perched upon a nearby stump of driftwood and clasped her hands around her knees. With a prim sniff and a lifting of her chin, she squinted as she looked out across the river. “That’s why I thought it ill-advised for you to be swimming in such a place. Who knows what’s in that water?”

  “Indeed.” Mercy nibbled at her food and took another sip of wine. Spotting the rim of another cup protruding from one of the bundles, she nodded toward it. “Do pour yourself some, Janie. There’s more than enough for both of us.” And why was that? Had Janie seen Graham and assumed he’d be here with Mercy when she returned?

  Janie brightened and hurried to help herself. “Thank you, m’lady. I was hoping you’d ask me to join you. I know it wouldn’t be proper back in the city, but surely, it’s all right out here. It is all right, m’lady, for certain?”

  “For certain,” Mercy repeated, her wariness relaxing a bit. She could trust Janie. The girl had always been an ally. She patted the blanket. “Do sit here. It’s so much more comfortable.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Janie settled on the blanket and took up a piece of brown bread, biting into it with gusto.

  Mercy studied the girl with covert glances between sips of wine and doodling in her sketchbook. The more she watched Janie scowl at the clump of grass across the river, the harder the knot in her middle tightened. Janie knew. Janie must have seen them. The girl must not have headed back to camp immediately. She’d tarried long enough to see what her mistress would do with the nude Scot hiding in the shadows.