And that bode ill.
“He was a wayfarer.” He gave her the closest answer he dared to truth: that he’d tracked the man after he’d left her that day at the harvest fair. “A Norseman. I found him by a burn, admiring the ring. When I recognized it as yours, I questioned him. He claimed he found the ring in the wood, near the tents of the joy women.” Alasdair didn’t say they’d fought. That a slice of the Viking’s ear had repaid him for taking what wasn’t his. Alasdair didn’t believe the man’s tale, suspected he possessed nimble fingers for all his brute size. That he’d bumped against Marjory at the fair, slipping the ring from her finger, her unaware.
“I don’t know where I lost it.” She looked down, rubbed her thumb over the ring. Then somehow her hands were on his shoulders. “Now, having you return it, the ring will mean even more to me.”
“Norn…” Alasdair tensed when she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into him. She held tightly and he swept his own hands around and down her back, gripping her hips, pulling her closer.
He couldn’t stop himself. She felt so soft and warm against him that he couldn’t release her. The silk of her hair teased his chin, almost maddening him. She smelled of spring meadows, the scent going straight to his head. Clean, light, and thoroughly feminine, the fragrance beguiled him as no other woman’s scent had ever done.
He tried not to breathe and failed miserably.
She curled her fingers into his plaid, her touch only worsening the heat coursing through him. His desire flared, swift and demanding. He kissed her hair, then her temple, his lips skimming her cheek. Her mouth beckoned, urging him on with a fierceness he couldn’t deny. Not now, with her so soft and pliant in his arms. He took one of her hands, pressing her fingers to his lips.
“Have a care with the ring, then.” He kissed the bauble’s stone and lightly nipped her fingers. “One should ne’er be parted with something so valuable.”
Would she know he meant more?
That it would break him to walk away from her? That he no longer believed he could?
Touching her—letting her touch him—had been a mistake. They’d crossed a threshold and the rapid beating of his heart warned there’d be no going back. So he turned her hand over, kissing her palm and then lighting kisses across the soft skin of her wrist.
Tasting her, losing himself.
Outside the little room, the wind rose, blowing curtains of mist past the entrance. Chill air swept inside, intensifying the smell of cold, wet stone.
Somewhere within the dark, weathered rocks, water dripped.
Alasdair scarce noticed.
His world had slammed to a halt, contracting to hold only Marjory’s intense blue gaze, the soft, warm press of her breasts against his chest. Above all, he relished the taste of her skin on the back of his tongue. An intimacy that had him setting as hard as granite.
He wanted more, needed all of her.
His entire body tightened, his pulse drumming in his ears. Tendrils of mist swirled into the room, curling across the floor and sliding up the walls so that the air shimmered around them, taking on a strange ethereal quality. Awareness flashed through him, igniting his senses. Every inch of him wakened, coming alive as never before.
She shone here, in the tiny stone-walled room, her light brighter than the stars. The mist’s luminosity paled before her. And he was drawn to more than her body’s curves and the glow of her eyes, the temptations hidden beneath her gown. Her heart and soul called to him, stripping away his resistance, branding him as her own. She intrigued, enchanted, and delighted him, as if the day’s sun fell on her alone.
He admired her pride and spirit, her deep love of the wild, rugged territory she called home.
Her passion…
He started to speak, to tell her they must leave here, but she touched her hands to his lips, stopping him. “The love of a man and woman is worth more than any gold.” She rested her hand against his cheek, her touch so warm. “True loss is to have one’s desire so near and yet—”
“Damnation, Norn. Dinnae speak so.” He splayed his hands over her bottom, digging his fingers into the plump flesh, pulling her closer until she couldn’t doubt what she did to him. “You will bring me to my knees.”
“I will do what I must.” She held his gaze. “And not a whit of it is damning. To me, this is a wonder.”
She leaned up on her toes, nipped his lower lip, and then kissed him lightly.
“Nae, it is madness.” Alasdair knew that well. He also went rigid, sensation racing over his skin, heating his blood, making him want to devour her.
She shook her head. “Madness is to deny one’s heart. The pity is when we turn from what could be, refusing pleasures offered. The comfort of shared bliss, even stolen—”
“Say no more, lest you push me too far.” He already verged on his limits. Her hips and breasts moved against him, tantalizing him, hurtling him into a fire he couldn’t begin to douse. Flames already scorched him.
He frowned, certain she knew it.
Saints help him, but he could live a thousand years and he’d still desire only her.
Was this what love did to a man? Could his feelings for her be more than mere lust?
Deep inside, he knew that was so.
She was watching him closely. She didn’t blink, only looked at him with her remarkable blue eyes, breaking his heart and stealing his soul.
He silently cursed her brother, damned his entire rash, hotheaded race.
He railed at himself more. He’d lost the battle by allowing her to drag him into such a close, hidden space. It would’ve been so easy to shake off her grip, continue down the stair, putting her from his mind.
He bit back a harsh laugh.
Truth was he’d follow her to the ends of the earth. To hell and back, even the Norsemen’s dread Niflheim. He’d leaped at the chance to enter this hidey-hole with her. Now that they were here…
He brushed the hair back from her face, the strands so smooth beneath his fingers. He let his gaze sweep over her, hungrily.
Her blood-red cloak had fallen completely open and her breasts touched his chest. Her nipples were hard, twin crested peaks that thrust against him, taunting and tormenting. Equally bad, her skirts clung to her, revealing the shapeliness of her thighs and hinting at the sweetness of her woman’s mound, the rich femininity he ached to explore.
More than that, he wanted to claim her.
Sweep her into his arms, lower her to the bare stone floor, and then push deep inside her, sink into her hot, silken heat.
“We should leave here.” His voice was strained, proving he didn’t want to go anywhere. Yet he had to give her this chance, needed surety before…
He drew a sharp breath. “It may already be too late.”
He knew it was.
She smiled, looking almost victorious.
“I know you want me.” She reached to stroke his face and then stepped back, letting her cloak slide from her shoulders. It pooled around her ankles, a sea of deep, shimmering red. “I’ve known your kiss and can see your desire. Truth is”—her gaze dipped to his groin—“I have felt it.”
He couldn’t deny it, his arousal more than apparent.
“Walk away if I’m mistaken.” She untied her bodice laces so that her gown slithered down her body, joining her cloak on the cold stone floor.
She stood before him near naked, her undershift clinging to her curves. The wispy material was thin and almost translucent, revealing far more than it hid, as if crafted by a fiendish hand. Someone who understood a man’s desires and wished to exploit them.
Alasdair set his jaw, hoping he didn’t begin to sweat.
Marjory’s eyes smoldered, an unspoken challenge.
“Damn you…” He stared at her, his heart hammering. “Have mercy, lass. Cover yourself.”
She didn’t move. “So I did err?”
“Och, nae.” He pulled her to him then, drawing her hard against his chest as he slashed his mouth over hers, kissing her
with a ferocity that astounded him. He gripped the back of her neck, thrusting his fingers into her hair, holding her in place as he plundered her lips. He swept his other arm around her, locking them together.
She clung to him, wrapping her arms around him, running her hands up and down his back as she parted her lips beneath his onslaught, returning his kiss with equal fervor. She even angled her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss, welcoming the glide of his tongue against hers, the sweet intimacy of the warm breath they shared.
“Norn…” His voice was deep, ragged. “I didn’t want this.”
But he couldn’t stop, knew he could never get enough of her. He brought his hand down over the wisp of cloth covering her breasts, his pulse racing at the feel of her soft feminine warmth, her tightly puckered nipples. She took his breath, maddening him so that all he knew was that he had to possess her, make her his.
They kissed hungrily, their bodies sealed together, their hands sliding everywhere, claiming and exploring, the world around them forgotten.
Need and want crashed through Alasdair, the pleasure like a flood tide. He pressed his knee between her thighs, nearly spilling when she gasped and rubbed against his leg, her passion as great as his own.
“Oh, dear…” She shivered when he tore his lips from hers to kiss his way down her neck and then on to her breasts. He closed his mouth over her nipple, sucking gently, licking her flesh.
“I have wanted you, Norn, have aye desired you.” His voice was ragged, his breath hard and fast. “I would make you mine, here, now.”
Somewhere in the distance thunder rolled, loud and booming.
Alasdair paid no heed.
Nought and its soaring Mackintosh peaks and the whole of the world could crumble to dust. He wouldn’t care. Nothing mattered except claiming Marjory’s lips again, kissing her hard and furiously. He tightened an arm around her, crushing her to him as he ran his hand over her breasts, letting his fingers brush her nipples. She melted against him, supple and intoxicating. Need for her flared, hot and demanding. His manhood throbbed, rigid and aching.
Thunder cracked again, the cold wind howling.
Alasdair ignored the storm’s wrath.
Marjory swayed against him. “I knew it would be this way between us.” Her voice was husky, her eyes dark with passion. She twined her fingers in his hair, broke their kiss to press her head against his chest as if to hear the fierce beating of his heart. “I—”
“You were unwise to follow me, but I’m glad you did.” He captured her wrists, lifting her arms over her head and backing her against the wall. “I want you, lass. I dinnae think I can e’er have enough—”
The loudest burst of thunder yet cut him off, the boom accompanied by the hiss of a boar spear speeding into the room, cracking against the wall mere inches from where they stood.
“Thor’s bleeding eyebrows!” Kendrew burst in on them, his broad chest heaving. “You’d be skewered if you weren’t holding my sister.” He grabbed his war ax, tossing the heavy-bladed weapon from hand to hand. “Release her and fight, the King’s peace be damned!”
“Kendrew!” Marjory stared at her brother.
Alasdair stepped round in front of her, shielding her.
He glared at Kendrew. “Only you would throw a spear with a woman anywhere near,” he snarled, a red haze blurring his vision as Lady Isobel rushed forward, pulling Marjory into a corner of the room.
Alasdair drew his sword, Kendrew already charging him, ax swinging. Alasdair raised Mist-Chaser and lunged, ready. Outside, the wind shrieked, and across the room, Marjory and Isobel cried for them to stop, but neither man paid any heed. Sword and ax clashed hard, the force of the first blow racing up Alasdair’s arm.
One of them would die.
The thought only made Alasdair’s blood boil the more. He also swung his sword with greater purpose. He wasn’t leaving this world. Not after coming so close to claiming his heart’s desire.
He’d do whatever he could to keep her safe, protect her good name.
Even if doing so would make her despise him.
Chapter Eight
I warned you no’ to touch her!” Kendrew tossed aside his ax and charged Alasdair, hurtling him against the stone wall. In the small room, brute strength served better than unwieldy steel. “No threats now, brine drinker! You’ll ne’er sully—”
“She’s no’ sullied,” Alasdair snarled, dropping his sword to grab Kendrew’s arms. They grappled, banging into a corner. “I didnae—”
Kendrew roared. “You say she offered—”
“She is innocent.” Alasdair tightened his grip, fury almost choking him. “I’ll cut the tongue from any man who says otherwise.”
Kendrew jerked free, his face darkening. “You admit forcing yourself on her?”
“I admit kissing her, touching her.” Alasdair caught a glimpse of Marjory, the horror on her face, her hair tumbling free, bright as the sun. For a beat, he felt as if he’d run into a wall, his chest squeezing, the breath leaving him. He turned back on Kendrew, spoke terse. “By God’s grace, I’ll no’ deny what happened, that I wanted her.”
“You tore the clothes from her!” In a blur of speed, Kendrew snatched Marjory’s gown off the floor, balling it in his fist before he flung it aside. “I should pare the skin off you, inch by bluidy inch.”
“You can try.” Alasdair’s dare echoed in the small stone-lined room.
Kendrew’s eyes narrowed, his Thor’s hammer pendant shining in the dimness. “No man defiles my sister.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“You did!”
They started to circle each other, both in fighting stances. Each man flexed strong fingers, their gazes locked. Somewhere Hercules barked madly and the men crowding the door opening shouted encouragement. Warriors of each clan cheered on their hero, raucous, eager for blood. In the corner, Marjory and Isobel clung to each other, yelling for them to stop, their cries drowned out by the ruckus, the howling wind, and the distant boom of thunder.
Alasdair kept his attention on Kendrew. Raising a clenched fist, he stepped nearer, still circling but closing the space between them.
Kendrew did the same. “Have you e’er seen a man who’s been skinned?” He gripped the dirk hilt rising from beneath his belt, came closer. “The sight would make you think twice before soiling a lady.”
“He didn’t,” Marjory cried out, starting forward. Isobel grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the corner. “It wasn’t his fault. I—”
“She tempted me, aye.” Alasdair lifted his voice over hers, loathing what he was about to say. “Any half-fetching female would’ve done.” Anger seethed in him at the lie, the red haze swirling round him intensifying, almost alive. Like Kendrew, he reached for the dagger at his belt, leaning in so they stood beard to beard. “I was away nigh a year, without a woman all that time.” He growled the words, knowing he had to speak them to spare Norn’s name. “Will you deny the urges that rise in a man? Could you go without ease so long?”
“I’d have taken a lusty kitchen wench.”
“And so I should’ve.” Alasdair stepped back, chest heaving, bile in his throat.
He could feel Norn’s stare without looking at her, knew he’d cut her to the quick. But now men would speak angrily of him, putting all blame on his shoulders. No one would accuse her of scandalous behavior, though some might look on her with pity. Unless…
With lightning speed, he whipped out his dirk, closing his hand tightly around the blade as he thrust his fist toward Kendrew. “I’ll wed your sister, Mackintosh. We can end this here and now.”
“No’ that way, we won’t.” Kendrew ignored his outstretched hand.
Alasdair cast his dirk aside and held up his hand, displaying his bloodied palm. “Come, man”—he glanced at Marjory and Isobel—“there was a time you’d have sworn ne’er to marry a Cameron. And I ne’er believed I’d offer for a Mackintosh.”
Kendrew tightened his lips, saying nothing.
“We agree you’re a bastard!” Kendrew knocked away his arm and drew his own dirk, jabbing the tip at Alasdair’s belly. “My sister willnae be a peace token. And the only piece of you I want is your guts spilling to the floor. Forget a truce and fight!”
Tossing aside his dagger, he lunged, hurling himself at Alasdair. They crashed together, the impact slamming them into the wall. They grappled fiercely, beating each other with their clenched fists until they toppled to the stone floor. Somewhere, women’s screams rose and Hercules’s shrill barks were even louder as the little dog leaped into the fray, jumping and snapping at them both.
When Hercules thrust his furry face between them, almost taking a blow, Alasdair pushed to his feet, hauling Kendrew with him. “I’ll no’ fight with a dog darting—”
“Then out here.” Kendrew smashed his fist into Alasdair’s jaw, knocking him through the door opening and into the whirling mist of the cliff stair.
Reeling, hot blood welling in his mouth, Alasdair almost plunged down the steps. He righted himself at the last moment and flew at Kendrew, hammering him with his own fists until he felt Kendrew’s nose crunch beneath a wild, anger-driven blow. Blood sheeted down Kendrew’s chin, but his eyes lit, as if he was enjoying himself.
Hair wild and still on his feet, he grinned, proving it. “Your blows faze me less than chaff in the wind.” He glanced round at the men lining the steep steps, all armed with swords and axes. “Can you do no’ better?”
Some of the men snickered. Others looked back at him hard-faced as they reached for their sword hilts, their grips white-knuckled.
Warriors of both clans, they stepped back, making room on the narrow stair, waiting. At a nod from either chief, chaos would erupt.
More blood would spill, men would die.
Cold wind gusted across the steps, the blowing mist blurring edges. Only Nought’s high walls, the orange haze of torches, and the shadowy forms of men could be seen. But Alasdair knew a sheer drop loomed near. One false move, and he and Kendrew would plunge to their deaths. Their ends decided not by steel but by Nought’s jagged rocks.
Seduction Of A Highland Warrior Page 13