Seduction Of A Highland Warrior

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  He didn’t care.

  He did resent Kendrew’s taunt. Rolling his shoulders, he took a deep breath of the cold air, ready to knock Kendrew’s smugness out of him.

  “I’m waiting, briny.” Kendrew raised his arms, cracking his knuckles.

  “No need.” Alasdair drove his fist into Kendrew’s ribs, rained blows on his head when he grunted and bent double under the onslaught.

  “No’ good enough,” Kendrew huffed, straightening to hurl himself at Alasdair. He started punching him with equal might and they wrestled, lurching ever closer to the stair’s abrupt drop-off.

  One of them—Alasdair wasn’t sure who—lost his footing and they toppled over, slamming against the hard and slippery steps. But they rolled together, not missing a blow as they hammered each other with clenched fists. Men leaped aside, making room and stamping their feet, roaring encouragement to their leader.

  “Stop them!” Marjory’s voice rose above the din. “They’ll kill each other.”

  “Enough!” Isobel called out, equally loud.

  And then both ladies were upon them, grabbing at arms and plaids, dragging them apart. When their efforts failed, they dropped to their knees, beating on them with their own fists.

  “Odin’s balls!” Kendrew jumped up, gripping his wife by the elbows, lifting her with him. “If I’d known you’d no’ let a man fight, I’d have ne’er—”

  “You’ve both fought enough.” Isobel shook herself free, dusted her skirts. “This must end here and now.”

  “Indeed, lady.” Alasdair stood, reaching to help Marjory, but she pushed up on her own. Ignoring him, she clutched her blood-red cloak about her. Alasdair stiffened, aware that she was near naked beneath it. He turned to Isobel, shoved a hand through his hair. “Your husband and I will settle this another day.”

  “I think not.” Marjory stepped forward, her chin raised. Wind whipped her hair and high color stained her cheeks. Her eyes were narrowed, cold shards of deepest blue. “Killing each other will serve naught. And”—her gaze flicked between the two men—“I’ll not have you fighting over me.”

  Kendrew’s brows snapped together. “You’ll no’ be wedding him.” He flashed an angry look at Alasdair. “I may no’ have found a husband for you yet, but I’ll be putting together a new list soon. MacDonald willnae be on it. He—”

  “I’ve no wish to wed a Norse noble.” Marjory’s tone was as chilled as the wind. “Nor will I marry Alasdair,” she added, her voice even icier. “No harm came to me this day and I prefer to forget what did happen.”

  “Norn…” Alasdair started toward her, but she raised a hand, shaking her head.

  He strode forward anyway, catching her by the waist, holding her gaze. “My offer stands, lass. It was given—”

  “I know why you made it.” She stiffened in his grasp, her eyes narrowing even more. “I bid you to leave.”

  Alasdair looked at her, wanting to say so much. Yet he wouldn’t cause her embarrassment before his men or, worse, her own kinsmen.

  He did release her, hard as it was.

  Even surrounded by men as they were, Isobel’s hovering presence, and Hercules racing around them, yipping shrilly, he wanted her badly. He could still taste her kisses, feel the silky-smooth warmth of her bared skin beneath his fingers. His awareness of her was painful, a physical ache far worse than the cuts and bruises her brother had given him.

  He clenched his hands at his sides, ignoring the dull throbbing, a need that stemmed from his heart as much as his loins.

  He was also sure he’d grab her and carry her away, her brother and their truce be damned, if he didn’t turn and leave anon.

  So he straightened, flung his plaid back over his shoulder. He ignored the blood trickling down the side of his face from a cut in his temple. With luck no one would guess his labored breath and heavy scowl came from wanting her so fiercely. The rage, and hot desire, that ate at him like a living, scorching flame.

  Marjory certainly didn’t know.

  Never had she looked at him with such loathing. “It grows late. I asked you to go.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” He made a slight bow, not taking his gaze off her.

  “I do.” Her voice was clipped.

  Beside her, Isobel frowned, bent to scoop Hercules into her arms.

  Kendrew grinned, dragged the back of his arm over his bloodied beard. “You heard her.” He glanced at Alasdair’s men, jerked his head at the downward steps. “Be gone before I crave more blood.”

  “We’ll meet again, Mackintosh.” Alasdair turned to his foe, nodding curtly before accepting his discarded sword and dirk from one of his men.

  “Ladies.” He looked again at them both, letting his gaze linger on Marjory, glancing briefly at her sapphire ring. He knew there was more to the tale of her losing it. The thought of her being accosted by anyone, even a simpleminded, fair-going thief, made his blood boil.

  Stepping past Kendrew, he leaned close to her, spoke with all the command of his chiefly status. “You are aye welcome at Blackshore. Remember that.”

  “I shall not forget anything that transpired this day.” She spoke coolly, her face now void of emotion.

  Isobel started to say something, but Marjory took her wrist and pulled her away before she could. In a blink, they were gone, the massed bulk of the Mackintosh guards blocking their retreat from view.

  “You’ve lost her.” Kendrew’s taunt was muffled by the edge of plaid he was using to swipe at his bleeding nose. “She doesn’t want you. And I’m tired of brine tainting fine Nought air.”

  “A shame, for it’s a reek hard to banish.” Alasdair smiled and stepped forward to grip Kendrew’s arm. “Dinnae say you weren’t warned.”

  Then he and his men left swiftly, no further words spoken, the mist swirling round them.

  “Did you hear him?” Marjory shot an annoyed glance at Isobel as they descended the dimly lit steps from Nought’s great hall to the kitchens and cellars. Unlike the turnpike stairs elsewhere in the stronghold, this one was long, narrow, and steep. Full of gloom and shadow, despite air slits cut into the walls and the placement of iron-bracketed torches at regular intervals.

  Just now, the darkness suited Marjory.

  Spears of light from the kitchen fire cast an orange glow across the foot of the stairs, the sight always making her think of the entrance to hell. Even the tantalizing cooking smells didn’t chase that impression. The fire’s roar also sounded ominous, like grumbles of angry demons.

  She wouldn’t mind joining their discourse.

  She’d sooner suffer suchlike than be trapped at the high table listening to Kendrew’s booming account of his fight with Alasdair. It was bad enough that his men’s rumbling voices and Kendrew’s words echoed in the stairwell.

  Alasdair’s words also followed her, sluicing over her like icy water. The shock had been as startling. Stunned fury had taken her breath. Now she just felt ill. Her eyes stung and her throat was tight, burning.

  She would not cry.

  She was angry.

  “Did I hear who?” Isobel stopped on the steps, looking at her. “Kendrew? Saying he craved more blood? He was going on like a beast—”

  “Not my brother.” Marjory met her friend’s gaze. “Alasdair.” She spoke his name quickly, not liking the intimacy on her tongue. The memory of how she’d clung to him, returning his kisses, wanting so much more. “He said he’d been alone too long, without a woman’s ease. And that”—she bristled, a stab of jealousy piercing her heart—“any half-fetching female would’ve drawn his attentions.”

  “His kisses?” Isobel lifted a brow.

  Marjory took a breath, her ire rising. “He did more than kiss me, as everyone saw.” She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders, painfully aware of her hastily donned gown, her mussed and windblown hair. “To think I believed I’d seduced him. That he’d succumbed because he wanted me, desiring me above all others. That he might—”

  “Love you?” Isobel’
s dark eyes glittered in the dimness. “I dare say he does. Or that he’s very near to doing so if he doesn’t already.”

  “And I say you’re mistaken.” Marjory glanced down the steps. They were almost at the bottom. She didn’t want anyone to hear them. “He doesn’t love me or any woman.” She brushed her hair off her face, frowning. It was so hard to keep her voice low. “Lust drove him to kiss me. The base urges that plague all men.”

  “Pah!” Isobel took her arm, urging her into the smoky warmth of the vaulted kitchens. Several serving lads glanced their way, acknowledging them before returning to their work at a heavy oak table in the center of the room.

  “I’d tell you true, Norn.” Isobel paused as a light patter of claws announced that Hercules had caught up with them. She looked down, smiling at the little dog before turning back to Marjory.

  “I’ve seen Alasdair look at you.” She led Marjory along the wall, toward an archway in a quiet corner of the kitchen. “Just now, after the fight, his gaze was so intense, so heated, I’m surprised he didn’t scorch you. He was caught in your spell, a man torn by passion.”

  “He did singe me.” Marjory could still feel his stare. It lingered like bold, strong hands on her skin, exploring her secrets, making her shiver even now. Furious that was so, she waited as a gust of wind whistled past one of the tall, narrow windows. “And I wanted to sear him, entice and seduce him. I was prepared for anything. Then Hercules bit his ankle and”—she glanced at her dog, remembering—“I grabbed for Hercules just when Alasdair also bent. We bumped heads as we straightened and then—”

  “He kissed you.” Isobel spoke softly, glancing again at the lads cutting onions. She also looked to the far side of the kitchens where Cook stood before the huge double hearth, stirring a delicious-smelling meat broth. “For truth, I am sorry Kendrew spoiled such an opportunity. One of his men noticed the open door to the secret passage.

  “You couldn’t have closed it securely because Gronk and a few of the other dogs were sniffing about behind the tapestry that hides the ruined stair.” She switched her gaze from Cook back to Marjory. “Kendrew saw the dogs and guessed what you’d done.”

  “He would.” Marjory’s head was beginning to pound. She glanced at her hand, hoping he wouldn’t have noticed her ring had gone missing a short while.

  She wore it always.

  She rubbed her thumb over the ring’s gleaming blue stone, again feeling Alasdair close his fingers over hers, warning her to take care.

  He spoke with a deep resonance, rich tones that stirred incredible longing. She wanted to hear him again. Relive how she’d felt when he’d leaned near, his gaze locking with hers. The delicious shivers his voice sent flowing through her, melting her.

  She frowned, curled her fingers into the soft folds of her cloak to keep from glancing at the ring again, remembering and aching.

  She did step around Isobel to open the door to Nought’s walled kitchen gardens. Isobel followed her outside, closing the door behind them. She took Marjory’s wrist, lifting her hand to peer at the sapphire ring.

  “Do you think Alasdair believed you lost the ring at the fair?” Isobel’s gaze was sharp. “Or that he accepted Groat’s tale of finding it in the wood?”

  Marjory slipped her hand from Isobel’s grip. “At the time, I did think something bothered him. Now…” She flicked at her sleeve, resenting the unpleasant tightness coiling in her chest. She’d been prepared to risk everything, do anything to win his heart.

  She’d trusted he felt the same.

  “Everyone knows what was irritating him.” She looked at Isobel, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “His manly needs, as he plainly said.”

  Isobel tsked. “You are being unfair.”

  Marjory felt a bump against her leg. She bent, reaching down to pet Hercules as he leaned into her, making small rumbling noises. He understood her vexation and sympathized even if Isobel didn’t.

  “I have had my eyes opened.” Marjory straightened. “Though I’ll admit it hurts to see I allowed my heart to choose unwisely. I’d so hoped I wouldn’t break our pact. My confidence rose after Kendrew fell so hard for you. Who would’ve believed he’d abandon his wild ways and wed you, a lady? He’d sworn never to touch a woman of gentle birth. Then you came to our Midsummer Revels and—”

  “He couldn’t help himself.” Isobel smiled, her face softening. “Just as Alasdair couldn’t resist kissing you in the old guardroom—”

  “He seized advantage, aye.” Marjory’s chest squeezed again, her annoyance making it hard to breathe.

  “That wasn’t the way of it. He was overcome by desire at being alone with you.”

  “Humph.” The throbbing in Marjory’s head worsened.

  So did Isobel’s smile. “Denying the truth won’t change it.”

  “Nor will twisting what happened into something it wasn’t.” Marjory started down the path through Nought’s walled kitchen gardens. “Alasdair kissed me because it’s been ages since he’s sought his ease with a woman,” she declared, taking a deep breath of the cold, herb-scented air.

  Isobel walked beside her, Hercules trailing along.

  “Alasdair is keeping himself for you.” Isobel glanced back at the closed garden door behind them. She lowered her voice. “No other woman interests him. Anyone can see that. He needs—”

  “All men have needs and he hasn’t been tending his.” Marjory squelched the dash of hope stirred by Isobel’s words. “He is a well-lusted man. His behavior had nothing to do with me.”

  Isobel slanted a glance at her, her eyes twinkling. “Say you.”

  “I do.” Marjory looked away, not wanting to recall how she’d felt pressed so intimately to Alasdair. Their bodies almost seamed together, her breasts crushed against his hard-muscled chest. How his hands had gripped her hips, pulling her closer. Or her pulse began to race, the sinuous glides of their tongues as they’d kissed. The hot breath they’d shared, her excitement. She’d melted, desire sweeping her.

  Then…

  She turned her face into the wind, toward Nought’s peaks. Massive and jagged, they soared above the garden walls. Mist still wreathed them, but it’d thinned in places, allowing the mountains’ granite to wink in the lowering sun. The rain clouds had moved on, taking the thunder with them. But the wind brought the distant rush of Dreagan Falls, a waterfall hidden deep within Nought’s heart.

  Marjory straightened her back, squaring her shoulders.

  She would’ve loved to stroll the garden with Alasdair, showing him Nought’s beauty as few have ever seen. Instead, she was here with Isobel, following a pebbled path through the well-ordered beds of herbs, onions, and garlic.

  The pungency hung in the damp air, along with the scent of wet stone. It was a smell all Nought’s own, and that always made her heart beat faster.

  Just now, she scarcely noticed.

  She couldn’t forget how good Alasdair smelled. Almost sinfully wicked, his scent was a heady blend of cold leather and peat smoke, a hint of brisk, clean wind. She’d wanted to breathe him in, drench her senses so she could always feel near him. Now, she only felt bereft.

  At the garden well, she turned to face Isobel. “I do not wish to speak of Alasdair. Especially here, so close to the kitchens.”

  Nearly every wall at Nought had hidden spy and listening holes. So Marjory hooked her arm in Isobel’s and led her toward the back of the herb beds.

  Nought’s stone garden stretched beyond, a sanctuary of flagged paths, polished granite arcades, and benches. A scattering of lovely, reflective ponds set among fanciful groupings of rocks lent tranquility. Created by a past Mackintosh lady who must’ve loved Nought as dearly as Marjory did, it was one of her favorite places. Hercules also loved the stone garden and Marjory often walked him along the curving paths.

  He bolted ahead now, waiting for the women at the gate. New and beautifully crafted of iron, it proudly bore the letters K and I intertwined inside a heart at the gate’s center. The d
esign was Kendrew’s and bespoke his devotion to Isobel.

  A pity his heart wouldn’t expand enough to allow his sister to follow her own dreams.

  Of course, now she knew the folly of her hopes.

  “I think we should speak of Alasdair.” Isobel reached around her to open the gate, stepping aside so Marjory and Hercules could enter the stone garden. “You will see him again anon. You ignite fires inside him. He isn’t resistant and stubborn like Kendrew. Nor is he like my brother James. Alasdair—”

  “I’m not comparing him to Kendrew or James.” Marjory started along the broad flagstone path through artfully placed groupings of large, polished stones. “Indeed, I thought I knew him well. There was such a spark between us when we met.” She stopped to draw her cloak tighter. Here, in the open space of the stone garden, the cold wind was biting. “You know how it was. Catriona knows, too. She was with Alasdair when they came here. I felt almost feverish, my breath catching when I stepped into the hall and saw him.” She started walking again, her pace brisk.

  “There was an intensity of feeling I’d never before experienced. He consumed me, chasing reason like a swift, flooding tide I couldn’t resist. I believed we were meant to be joined.” She glanced at Isobel, willing her to understand. “When we made our pact, after the trial by combat, I was sure he was the man I would wed. If he resisted, I trusted I could seduce him.”

  “You did.” Isobel smiled encouragingly.

  “Perhaps so”—Isobel looked again toward Nought’s peaks—“but with disastrous results.”

  It’d been the hope of all three women to win their men’s hearts. Only so did they believe to end the years of strife between the three clans that called the Glen of Many Legends their own. They’d forged a plan better than any King’s writ. Forced amity can be given token acceptance but will shatter at the first ripple of dissent. Peace born of marital and blood bonds can heal all wounds if the hearts involved loved true.

  James Cameron was utterly devoted to his wife, Catriona MacDonald, Alasdair’s sister.