MacKinloch 03 - Tempted by the Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  * * *

  She came on foot. Through the trees, Marguerite’s saffron gown bloomed like a golden flower caught within the forest. Callum stood waiting for her, near his tethered horse, Goliath. Upon his shoulder, he carried his bow and quiver of arrows to protect them from any harm.

  The sight of her made his pulse quicken. He was torn between wanting to steal her away and discovering how to win her heart. She’d kept her promise to return, but he hardly knew what she thought of him.

  Ever since the first moment he’d seen her, an invisible pull had bound him to her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Marguerite if it kept her safe and made her happy.

  Though her fine gown marked her as a duke’s daughter, when he looked upon her face, he saw the woman who had saved him from death. She was a quiet beauty that he couldn’t relinquish.

  When she reached his side, he repressed the urge to pull her into an embrace. His hand clenched around the bow and he nodded in greeting.

  Marguerite offered a hesitant smile. ‘Good morn to you.’

  Callum gestured towards his fire, motioning the question of whether she had broken her fast. She saw the remains of the boar meat he’d taken and shook her head. ‘I’ve eaten already.’

  She twisted her hands together, reaching for the silver chain around her throat. When she pulled it free, he saw the pendant hidden beneath the silk gown. She’d kept it.

  Her eyes held nervousness, but he made an effort not to frighten her. After so many months, they were strangers again. It would take time before she learned to trust him.

  He beckoned to her to come closer and introduced her to his black stallion. Marguerite reached to touch Goliath and the horse nuzzled her hand. ‘He’s a handsome creature.’ Her eyes met his and a flush of shyness came over her cheeks. Murmuring to the animal, she stroked his head and distracted herself with getting acquainted.

  She looked flustered, as if she didn’t know what to say or do. Moving between them, he took her hand in his. She was scared and it wasn’t surprising. He’d removed her from the castle, bringing her out here alone. He had to do something to make her relax, to understand that nothing had changed between them.

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his own hair and drew it downwards in a petting motion. A smile flickered at her mouth. ‘You’re not a horse, Callum.’ But the tension evaporated and she let out a half-laugh when he nuzzled her hand. With his hands upon her waist, he lifted her on to the horse, swinging up behind her.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  He pointed beyond the trees, north of the castle. Far away where none of her father’s men could find them.

  Marguerite started to protest, but he ignored her, urging the animal through the trees to the meadow beyond. He held her securely against him as he quickened the pace, letting the animal take them away.

  In the open clearing, he urged the horse faster, holding her tight as he let Goliath run. The stallion loved nothing better than to go fast, the landscape blurring around them. He guided them over the hills, until they reached a small, silvery loch. His horse was glad to stop for a drink and Callum lifted Marguerite down while Goliath took his fill.

  ‘For a moment, I was afraid you were trying to steal me away to Glen Arrin,’ she breathed, a furtive smile upon her lips.

  Would you want me to? he wondered.

  Unlike most men, he could not speak words of flattery or tell her his thoughts. He had to rely on his actions to show her what he wanted.

  With his hands resting upon her waist, he tried to let her see the thoughts within him.

  If I could, I’d bring you back with me.

  His hands moved up her arms, like a lover’s. Her skin prickled with goose flesh, but she remained utterly motionless, her blue eyes caught up in his. ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ she whispered.

  His answer was to touch a finger to her lips. Say nothing at all. He took her hands and brought them to his chest. Furtively, she rested her fingers upon his heartbeat.

  ‘I think your heart is beating as fast as mine is,’ she admitted, raising her hands to his shoulders. Her touch explored him, moving down his arms, and then up again. He didn’t move at all, thankful that she’d read his thoughts. Only he wanted her hands upon his bare skin.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here right now,’ she murmured, ‘but I don’t care.’

  Neither did he. Her father was gone and they had a few hours before the others would come to search for her. By then, he would bring her safely home again.

  Marguerite’s hands moved up his neck, then her hands threaded into his hair. The sensation of her touch brought him closer to temptation. He wanted to kiss her again, to taste the sweetness of her mouth and give in to his own desires. The blinding pleasure of her hands was pushing him closer to the edge. But then, with a mischievous smile, she petted him, as she had done earlier to his horse.

  His answer was to seize her wrists and capture the kiss he wanted. He took command of her mouth, stealing her breath, and giving her no chance to escape him. She didn’t understand the power she held over him. His hands moved into her hair, tearing the veil aside until he could slide his fingers into the silken length.

  Don’t play games with me.

  Her lips were swollen, her breathing tremulous. But she understood now that he wasn’t one of her father’s men who would defer to flirtation or small touches.

  Her face was pale, but there was no fear—only an answering desire. He hadn’t brought her here for teasing, but neither would he harm her.

  Taking her hand in his, he led Marguerite to sit upon a boulder overlooking the loch. The late morning sun had risen higher, casting its warmth. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she offered. Drawing her knees beneath her gown, she stared out at the silvery water. ‘There was a lake near my father’s castle in Avignois,’ she admitted. ‘When I was a little girl, I used to watch my sisters swim. I was too frightened to join them.’

  He sent her a questioning look, and she added, ‘I never learned how.’

  But he saw the interest in her eyes. Bending down, she removed her shoes and dangled her bare feet into the water. ‘It’s not as cold as I thought it would be.’

  Callum watched her, wondering if she would trust him. They were alone, with no one to intrude. Stripping off his tunic, he waded into the water, never minding that his trews would get wet. He came before her, the water reaching just above his knees, and held out his hand.

  ‘I can’t go into the water,’ she said. ‘My gown would be soaked.’

  He didn’t pressure her, but tilted his head in an invitation to join him. Wariness lined her face, as if she didn’t trust him.

  ‘I’m not certain it would be a good idea. I really am a terrible coward.’ She tried to smile, but beneath it he saw a hint of fear. Possibly fear of the water, but it might be a fear of getting closer to him. Especially after the kiss he’d stolen.

  He sent her a slow, sinful smile. Come to me, Marguerite. If you dare.

  She gathered her skirts and stood up, eyeing him with wariness. Callum dipped his hand in the water and flicked a splash of water at her. Marguerite let out a light shriek, laughing as the cold droplets rolled down her throat beneath her gown. ‘Don’t. Really, I shouldn’t.’

  He reached into the water and cupped both hands full. Eyeing her with wickedness, he led the threat hover between them.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  In answer, he sloshed the water toward her, angling it so that it just missed her gown.

  She leaped back with her skirts still clutched in her hands. ‘Enough. I surrender.’ But her eyes were laughing.

  He emerged from the loch, dripping wet, and came to stand before her. Her gaze moved over his bare skin and there was interest in her eyes. She’d seen him unclothed before and sensual memories invaded his mind, recalling how she had bathed him.

  He brought his wet hands to the jewelled girdle at her waist. She stared at him, covering his hands with her own w
hile he unfastened it.

  Trust me.

  Her face paled, but he dropped the girdle upon the grass, waiting for her to make the choice.

  ‘If I were still a little girl, it wouldn’t matter, would it? I could try to swim if I wanted to.’

  Callum nodded in reply, moving his hands to loosen the surcoat she wore.

  ‘M-my father never allowed me to try swimming. He told me I wasn’t strong enough, that I might drown.’ In her eyes, he saw the war of feelings, as if she were torn with indecision. He drew his hands up her nape and she shivered before him. With his thumb, he brushed gently against her mouth, as if to tempt her.

  ‘He will be gone for the next fortnight,’ she continued, turning her back to him. ‘To bring back the man who will be my husband.’

  Her confession fired up Callum’s jealousy, darkening his mood. He’d come here to fight for her, to show her another fate if she wanted it. He wasn’t about to stand aside and let her wed someone else. Not if he could convince her otherwise.

  She drew her hair over one shoulder, baring her throat to him. ‘Will you help me take this gown off?’

  His answer was to rest his hands upon her skin, letting her feel the warmth of him. Slowly he unlaced the saffron surcoat and helped her lift it away. The gown beneath it was tightly fitted to her arms. He rested his hands upon her shoulders, awaiting permission. Goose flesh rose upon her nape and she murmured, ‘May I borrow your blade?’

  Confused, he stepped back and handed it to her. Marguerite took the knife and used it to tear out the stitches that held her sleeves in place. ‘I didn’t bring scissors, as I sometimes do. But now we can remove it.’

  When he hesitated, she raised her arms. ‘Go on,’ she whispered. ‘But leave my chemise.’

  He knelt at her feet, gathering the hem of the gown. As he raised it high, his hands grazed her waist and over the curve of her breasts. The linen chemise was soft, barely covering her flesh, and he gritted his teeth against the urges rising within him. When she was free of the garment, he couldn’t stop the urge to touch her. While his hands encircled her waist, resting below her breasts, he brought his mouth to the silver chain resting upon her nape. His lips edged the chain, and he drew it out with his fingers, moving the pendant beneath the chemise to nestle against her bare breasts.

  A sigh escaped Marguerite and it was all he could do not to drag her to him, stripping away the last barrier between them. His mind tormented him with visions of claiming her, using his mouth and tongue to awaken her passion.

  She turned to face him, her body shielded by the linen. With her palms upon his chest, his heartbeat quickened. ‘Teach me to swim, Callum.’

  * * *

  She was playing a dangerous game. Marguerite saw the emotions race across Callum’s face and worried that she’d gone too far. Perhaps he’d brought her here to enjoy time together in a beautiful place and she had dared to reveal more of herself by shedding the outer gowns. Her bare arms attracted his notice, although her chemise covered her body.

  He took her hand and led her into the water. It was cold, but not unbearably so. With every step, the water grew deeper. Past her calves, to her thighs, and finally her waist. Her chemise moved within the water and though Callum continued to walk at her side, she could feel the strain in his demeanour.

  He looked like a man who was fighting against himself but the darkness in his eyes tempted her instead of making her fear him. Already he’d given her a glimpse of the physical heat that was hers for the taking. His kiss had been savage, unrelenting. And he tempted her in a way that no man ever had.

  Her hands grew wet, but he didn’t let go. And once the water covered her breasts, she gasped at the sudden drop in temperature.

  ‘This is far enough.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, for her breasts puckered within her chemise. Against the thin linen, she worried he might see too much.

  You could have refused to swim, she reminded herself. This was your doing.

  Callum drew her to face him and she saw the water lapping his muscled chest. The fierce desire to touch this man, to be consumed by him, was rising within her. No longer did it seem that they were worlds apart. There was only this moment between them and the unnamed feelings.

  He reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. His hands rested against the back of her knees and a violent shiver came over her. When he laid her back in the water, she was barely aware of him straightening her limbs. His dark eyes held her captive as his hands rested beneath her spine.

  She was floating on the water, not understanding how. Her chemise was soaked and clung to her body. No doubt he could see the darker nipples beneath the linen and he made no effort to hide his gaze. His eyes passed over her, like a man who couldn’t stop himself. He adjusted his grip to hold her with one arm, while the other traced the curve of her cheek, moving down her throat. The contrast between the heat of his hands and the freezing water held her locked in place.

  Every part of her wanted him to go further, to move his hands over her aching breasts, to touch her where no man ever had.

  The ripples of water held her suspended and she fought the urge to hold on to Callum’s arms. Slowly, he moved to stand behind her, until he dropped his hands away. She was floating with nothing to hold her above the water. Panic filled her and she tried to sit up, flailing in the water until he caught her, guiding her torso back to the surface. Once again, he straightened her body, adjusting her position until her hands were outstretched, her legs straight.

  He held the back of her head, standing behind her once more. His arms rested beneath her shoulders and she was intensely aware of his moulded strength. He was an archer, a man who could command the bow and send an arrow flying with one pull on the taut string. Those same strong arms held her gently but with the quiet reassurance of a powerful stature.

  Marguerite lifted her eyes to his. From her position, he appeared upside down. His steady gaze reminded her that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. I’ll keep you safe, his eyes seemed to say.

  She watched him, wanting more than his hands upon the back of her head. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.

  * * *

  Instead of bringing her back up to stand before him, Callum bent down to her lips. From the upside-down position, her mouth tantalised him, her cool lips surrendering. Whether she knew it or not, her plea fired the desires he’d tried to hold back. At the sight of her slender body, revealed to him through the thin white linen, it was a good thing he was standing in cold water. The curve and dusky tint of her breasts aroused him like hot oil upon fire.

  He kissed her gently, then slid his tongue across the opening of her mouth.

  Marguerite couldn’t stop her intake of breath, and when her mouth parted, he invaded her with his tongue. The sensation turned her soft in his arms, her hands reaching for him. He held her in the water, and the kiss became the prelude of every way he wanted to know her.

  Her tongue slid against his in a caress, and he took her deeper, letting the kiss turn hotter. He burned for her, body and soul. The water lapped against her skin the way he wanted to touch every inch of her. She reached up to his neck, holding on for balance while her eyes closed.

  I want to be on top of you, your skin beneath mine.

  His hands came under her knees, catching her before she could slide under. Against her breasts, the wet fabric of her chemise clung to her nipples, making them tight and hard. He imagined moving his mouth down to taste her, swirling his tongue on her until she moaned with need.

  She held on to him, turning in the water with her arms around his neck. The water was too deep for her to stand, so she moved her body against his, her cool skin pressing upon him. Instinct made him want to lift her hips, wrapping her slender legs around his waist until he could penetrate her in one stroke.

  She was watching him with sudden awareness, her mouth softening as she studied him. ‘Callum?’ she whispered. It was both a question and a plea.


  He couldn’t. Not now, not when she didn’t know what she asked of him.

  Instead, he strode back into shallow water, bringing her back until she stood waist-high in the depths. He broke from the kiss and dove away from her, his body slicing through the water in smooth strokes.

  The physical exertion was what he needed right now, the driving need to punish himself. She was innocent and didn’t understand what he wanted from her.

  His arms broke through the water, swimming hard as if to run away from the man he was.

  You’re unworthy, the voice taunted. She’s far too good for you.

  He swam endless laps, the water so cold it numbed him from inside. When at last he returned to her, Marguerite stood upon the shore, shivering. On her face, he saw worry.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ she called out.

  He strode through the water, heedless of the droplets rolling down him. No, this was his fault. His feet sank into the sand as he walked closer.

  She didn’t understand the effect she had upon him, but he wanted to reassure her that he’d regained his grip on sanity. When he stood before her, he reached out to a wet lock of her hair and smoothed it over one ear. He let his eyes speak for him, while his palm rested against her cheek.

  It’s not your fault. Never yours.

  She watched him, her blue eyes worried, but her hand reached up to cover his. ‘I know it’s cold,’ she murmured, ‘but will you take me back into the water? Just for a little while?’

  Callum eyed her and acquiesced, though he was freezing. He strode into the loch and led her with him. When Marguerite reached the deeper water, he moved her to her stomach. His arms balanced beneath her breasts and legs, lifting her to the top of the water.

  ‘Don’t let me fall,’ she warned.

  He shook his head and she tilted her head to look at him. The feeling of her slender body in his arms was a gift and he tightened his hold to reassure her.

  Never.

  Callum adjusted the position of her body, holding her with one arm while he showed her how to move her arms. Marguerite tried to swim as he had, but didn’t know how to kick her legs.