The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  All of this was different from what usually awaited him—nothing. An empty, cold chamber, his garments in the trunk, water for washing outside in the barrel next to the stables.

  Isobel had clearly embraced her role as lady and wife as it came to seeing to his comfort and Athdar found he liked this.

  * * *

  He had washed and dressed quickly, wanting to find and thank her. Admonishing himself for nearly running down the stairs and through the hall, he slowed himself to a walk and looked for her. The hall began filling with those who took their meals with him here, so he went towards the table at the front. Reaching it, he spied Isobel walking in from the kitchens. He did not sit, but met her halfway and took her hand.

  ‘My thanks for...’ He glanced towards the upper chambers and kissed her hand.

  ‘Everything was to your liking, then?’ she asked, with a becoming blush rising into her cream-coloured cheeks. He noticed that she did not take her hand from his.

  ‘Aye. I felt well tended.’ He laughed then and kissed her hand again before releasing it. ‘My thanks, Isobel.’

  She began to speak, but not the way the self-assured Isobel usually did. This time, she stammered a bit, looking embarrassed by his compliments. Then, distracted by something behind him, she took his hand and led him to the table.

  ‘Supper is ready,’ she said in a loud voice.

  Though he did not know what she’d planned, it was apparent that the women in the hall did. They pushed and tugged and directed everyone to sit as Isobel did...as he did. Then, the doors to the kitchen opened and servants brought out platters of food.

  As they ate, he noticed her signalling to servants and watched their prompt actions in reply. It had not taken her long at all to make a few changes. None of the servants, or even Ceard or Jean when they came out of the kitchens, seemed bothered by the changes. His cup was filled and his plate full, so he was pleased. From the expression of satisfaction in her eyes and from the matching ones on those serving the meal, Athdar understood she’d involved them in this change and they did it for her.

  ‘So,’ he whispered as he leaned in towards her, ‘how did you accomplish such a magical thing? Ceard is not known to be co-operative about changing the way he runs things.’

  ‘I pointed out that these few, small changes would mean his chores would be completed earlier each night. He seemed pleased by that idea.’

  She’d found the man’s weakness and used it against him. It was a lesson he would need to be wary of when dealing with her, he thought.

  ‘Fear not, though,’ she whispered. ‘There will also be a pot of stew or porridge waiting for anyone carrying out their duties past suppertime.’

  So, she’d not missed the one thing that was Jean’s concern while getting Ceard to comply with her wishes. Masterfully done.

  * * *

  They finished the meal and she motioned for him to stand, a signal set by her for the other servants to clear the table. He found he liked having everything there until finished.

  ‘I noticed the board set and ready in my chamber. Does this mean you are ready for a challenge?’ he asked, taking her hand and marvelling that she let him do so. A good sign—she was becoming comfortable with his touch.

  ‘Aye. A challenge for certain,’ she said, nodding and smiling at some of those following her directions without her uttering a word to them. ‘No quarter asked.’

  ‘And none given, lady,’ he replied.

  It was a custom in Connor’s home to say that and declare it an honest, no-holds-barred match. Whether the players be men or women, they were expected to play to the best of their abilities, no matter their opponent. He’d never noticed she’d never promised that in their earlier matches, leading him to the realisation that she’d let him win more than he thought she had.

  As they climbed the steps leading to the bedchamber, he also knew he stood no chance of winning any game against her if they played in the privacy of a bedchamber. His mind would be on many, many things and none of them would involve which piece to play. More likely than not, he would be thinking about how to get her out of her gown or into his arms.

  As he was at this moment.

  So, if he wanted to put her at ease with him and even the balance of power in the game, he would need to come up with a plan that would bother her as much as her nearness in the face of his good intentions not to rush her bothered and stymied him. By the time he lifted the latch of his door and opened it for her, he’d come up with something simple and nefarious at the same time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She could not catch her breath.

  Oh, not from exertions, but from the way he spoke and looked at her. Isobel had feared overstepping in some of the changes she’d made but from his expression as he noticed them, she thought him very pleased.

  As she worked this day, going from place to place in the keep, speaking to servants and others who called it home, she realised it was not truly a home—only a place to eat and sleep. Saddened by that and the lack of care that Athdar lived in, she decided a few things needed to be seen to quickly.

  His chamber was the first.

  She’d noticed the lack of care for him and his clothing when they had first arrived. Oh, she did not fault any of the household servants, for she learned that he had warned them off going in his chambers, giving them leave to do so only once a sennight or so. And though she could claim rightful reasons for her lack of an adequate number of garments now, he had no such claim. From speaking to the woman, Coira was her name, who saw to the laundry, Athdar would bring his clothing to her when he needed it cleaned. Isobel discovered one whole trunk contained worn-out or damaged garments that he never wore.

  Coira had shown her to the storage closet where additional lengths of fabric and extra garments were and she availed herself of several for both her and Athdar. If she remained, if this handfasting stood the tests that would face them, she would see to it that his garments were completely replaced.

  It was what a wife would do.

  Now, he walked close behind her and she could hear his uneven breathing. It reminded her of the night they had kissed in the corridor and her body reacted, remembering the heat and the pleasure she had found with his mouth touching hers. If he kissed her now like he had then, she would not object. Nay, she would even encourage him in spite of the fear of him discovering the truth about her.

  She stepped inside and was pleased to see that the water and basin had been emptied and cleaned and the chessboard lay ready on the table. He closed the door behind her and as she stepped away, he took hold of her and pulled her back against him, kissing the back of her head and wrapping an arm around her waist. She fell back against him, enjoying the way he moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. Her body ached with every touch of his mouth on her skin. A throbbing beat deep within her and she wanted...more.

  He released her and she tried to regain her balance. Her heart raced in her chest as she walked to the table. Sitting on the far side, she waited for him to sit. He poured her a cup of ale and brought it to her. If she did not gather her wits, this would be a very quick and embarrassing game for her. She drank deeply and tried not to look at him.

  Once he sat down, they divided up the pieces and began.

  It took an immeasurable amount of concentration to play this game when all she could think about was his mouth. She even found herself staring at his lips as he made his moves. The chamber felt very hot and she wondered if the servants had put too much wood on the fire.

  ‘Before we continue, I would like to place a wager on the outcome,’ he said. His voice had a husky edge to it as he spoke. ‘The winner receives a boon.’

  ‘A boon?’ Her voice sounded squeaky and unnaturally high to her ears. ‘What boon?’ She needed to know what this wager meant.

 
‘Whatever the winner asks of the loser, she or he must do.’

  Her breasts tingled and her mouth burned at his words and she fought the urge to touch either one of them. He meant to do this to her—she could read it in his eyes. But from the way his mouth opened slightly and his breathing changed, it affected him as much. So, her chances of winning and claiming this boon were almost an even match.

  Better than even since she had more skill than he did.

  But every time he reached for a piece to move, he licked his lips, forcing her attentions there. To his mouth. To remembering how it felt against hers.

  So, it was no surprise to her that the game ended with her as the loser. She pushed the pieces aside and faced him, ready to learn the price of his victory. Isobel met his gaze and waited.

  ‘Kiss me.’

  She frowned—that could not be his prize, surely not?

  ‘I claim your kiss as my boon.’

  ‘A kiss? Just a kiss?’ she asked, not sure how that was a prize worth playing for.

  ‘Whatever and however many you decide, Bel,’ he said softly. ‘I just want you to kiss me.’

  Her body pushed her to move before she could think more about this. A kiss? A single kiss? On his mouth? Or more than that? She stood and walked over to him. He opened his legs so she could step closer to him. He smiled, welcoming her to him. Isobel looked down into his eyes, still trying to work out how to do this, when his next words proved her undoing.

  ‘I beg you, Bel. Kiss me.’

  Her mouth was on his without another thought about how or how many. She touched their lips together as he had before. Then she slanted her mouth and took his as she wanted to. Over and over again. Dipping her tongue inside until he touched hers back. Tasting him. Nipping at his mouth.

  Leaving his mouth and trying to catch her breath, she traced the tip of her tongue around his jaw and down on to his neck, as he had done. He leaned his head back, giving her an easier path. She kissed where she had touched, tasting the saltiness of his skin, until she reached the place where the curly hair of his chest tickled her face.

  Her knees wobbled and she leaned against him, still not done. She felt him rise and harden against her leg, but instead of being fearful, it made her feel powerful. She had done that to him. She had.

  Isobel kissed the other side of his neck and then back up to join their mouths. This time, his tongue moved into her mouth and she hoped...she prayed...that he would take control and make her just feel. Instead, his hands never moved from where he’d placed them on his legs. Finally, aching with a need she’d not felt before, she asked him for exactly what she wanted.

  ‘Touch me, Dar,’ she whispered. ‘Touch me, please.’

  She kissed him again, waiting for the feel of his strong hands on her, but they did not move. Isobel leaned back and looked at him.

  ‘Ah, for that, Bel, you must be the victor and claim it as your prize.’

  She almost screamed at him. But it took her only a moment to realise he was serious. He still felt guilty, an unnecessary and untrue burden, for what he thought had happened between them. This was another way he atoned—making her the one in charge. She wanted to hit him and kiss him at the same time for this mad scheme of his.

  So, she settled for another kiss before stepping back, determined to be the winner of their next game.

  * * *

  He watched as the steely determination he’d seen in her gaze entered it once more. He was getting deeper and deeper in trouble here. What he’d thought of as a way to let her become accustomed to the pleasures that could be between a man and woman would soon become his own downfall. His body ached for release. It had readied itself as soon as she stepped near to him and her plea to touch her simply made his rising flesh like the standing stones in the far field. If he touched her, he would have her beneath him in but a second and he would fill her to her womb in the next.

  Nay, regardless of her ardour, she was an innocent and needed to be brought gently into this. A repeat of her first time would destroy any chance between them, so he clenched his fists and let her have at him.

  He was strong enough to control this as long as not in whisky’s grasp. He would be strong enough.

  But, hell, after she placed her mouth on his, he knew he was going to die a painful, agonising, unsatisfied death over this. What a fool he was to make such a challenge!

  He watched as she took her seat and placed her pieces on the board. Her face was flushed red, her mouth looked well kissed and plump and inviting. Her breathing was rough, but her body showed every sign of arousal. Ha! Now, the challenge was an even one.

  * * *

  Her play was haphazard at best. He took piece after piece, in spite of her every attempt to win. The only thing that kept him going was her clear desire to have him touch her. He nearly laughed aloud as he finally realised she wanted him to touch her intimately.

  So, when he won this game—and it was evident he would—what could he choose as his prize?

  He needed to handle her growing passion and desire carefully now after mishandling her body so badly. Step by step. Not too quickly, even if she thought that was what she wanted. He needed to have a care, a great care, for her innocence since he’d taken her virginity with so little.

  Athdar knocked over the red king, claiming the game and the victory. For a moment she looked disappointed, but then her eyes lit up and she licked her lips in expectation of his request. Having decided what his boon would be, he stood, walked around the chamber putting out most of the candles and the lantern and banking the fire in the hearth. Then he faced her.

  ‘My boon is...’

  He tugged off his boots, loosened his belt and removed it. Then he climbed on the bed and laid down. He tucked his hands behind his head and met her gaze.

  ‘Kiss me again, Bel. Here on the bed,’ he said, in a voice that cracked from the desire he felt pouring through his veins.

  It was a challenge he never should have made, for he could see her accepting it and plotting his demise, or at least the demise of his self-control. Isobel loosened her own laces and let her gown drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and used her toes to tug her soft leather shoes from her feet. The last thing she did, the one that made him begin to pray, was to take the tie off her braid and shake it free. As the lovely, hip-length blond curls flowed around her, his body shook.

  She moved slowly towards the bed, gathering up the bottom edge of her chemise so she could climb up. Kneeling next to him, she moved her gaze over his body as though he was Ceard’s latest sweet dessert.

  This had been a mistake, possibly the biggest miscalculation he’d ever made in his life. And, from the hungry gleam in her blue-green eyes, she was going to make him pay for doing this.

  ‘More kisses, then?’ she asked softly. ‘Do you have any rules this time?’

  Damn his control! His answer slipped out before he could think about it. ‘Just your mouth on me...mine!’

  She noticed the slip and smiled, a wicked curving of her lips before she licked them and leaned down to him.

  Oh, she began at his mouth, but clever and bold lass that she was, she did not stop there. She tasted his mouth, sliding her tongue to his, plunging it in deeper when his tongue moved away, until she had to stop to take a breath. When she glanced down at his body and shook her head, he should have surrendered and called this off.

  ‘Take this off,’ she said, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. He leaned up and let her take it off him. When he lay back down, he slid his hands up and took hold of the headboard. He was going to need it.

  Her mouth touched him everywhere. Her tongue tasted his skin and her lips kissed a path from his mouth to his stomach, stopping only at the waistband of his trews. His body arched against her mouth over and over again and her gentle laugh taught him not to
tease her this way again. Her hair swirled around her, its feather-like touch on his skin intensifying every touch of her mouth.

  She paused along the way to touch and outline the various scars he’d gained in fights and battles through his life. And licked and kissed them each in turn. When his hardness twitched against the fabric of his trews, she watched it before looking back at him. He held his breath when he thought she was considering whether or not to give that part of him such attention. Lucky for him this night, she proved how innocent she was and ignored that randy part of him that craved her touch.

  Climbing back on to her knees, she came back to his mouth and kissed him, open-mouthed, hot, wanting. Dar knew what she wanted, so he released the headboard and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. Rolling so that he covered her, he plundered her mouth the way he’d wanted to, pressing his hardness against the softness of her belly. She tangled her fingers in his hair, held his face to hers and opened to give him as much as he could take. Their tongues danced with each other and nothing was not done then: licking, feeling, tasting, biting...

  Hunger. Lust. Need.

  He tasted them all in her mouth and gave them back. Then, when he knew he was nearly too far gone, he fell back away from her, panting heavily on the bed. As did she.

  A few minutes passed before he felt as though he could breathe and speak again. As the passion cooled, the room felt chilled, so he got up and helped her under the covers, before putting his shirt back on and removing his trews.

  He knew he would not sleep this night, not with the erection he had and the heat still pumping through his body. Once she had settled, he lay there, trying not to think about her lush body and her willing mouth. He turned on one side and then on the other.

  ‘I cannot sleep,’ she said, her words echoing through the chamber.

  ‘Nor I,’ he admitted.

  ‘I will be back,’ she said, as she slipped quickly from the bed and left the chamber.

  So now he knew he was not the only one left unsatisfied.