“So I turned and earned your fist?” Grim wiped more blood from his mouth, still appearing amused.
“If that wasn’t enough for you, draw that damnable ax of yours.” Alasdair held Grim’s gaze, his own as cold as he could make it. “We’ll end this here and now. After I hear where Norn is.”
Grim’s face shuttered, his levity gone.
“You’ll no’ give orders on land that isn’t yours, is what you’ll do.” He leaned toward Alasdair. “Lady Marjory”—he stressed her title—“is at the widow Hella’s cottage. Lady Isobel, likewise. No’ that it’s aught to do with you.”
“The weal of all the glen’s womenfolk is my business.” Alasdair’s fist itched to punch Grim again. He’d defend any female in need. It was a matter of honor. The only difference with Marjory was that the thought of harm coming to her turned his world red.
It made his head pound and squeezed his chest so badly he was sure his lungs had caught fire.
That Grim, a Nought guardsman, had let her out of his sight, putting her in possible danger, sent rage pumping through him.
“You forget your duties.” Alasdair stepped closer, resisting the urge to grab his plaited beard and twist hard.
Grim’s face hardened. “I made it my duty to follow the ladies through the wood. If I wasn’t prepared to watch o’er them, I would’ve stayed at Nought where a fine, plump kitchen lass was making moony eyes at me just when the ladies crept from the castle.”
Alasdair didn’t sympathize. “You weren’t looking out for them strolling along thon burn, peeking into bushes and behind trees.”
“Skali Cottage was ne’er out of my sight.” Grim folded his arms, belligerent. “Nor are they in danger. No one goes near that cottage. Folk hereabouts fear this wood and keep their distance.”
“My men and I rode here.” Alasdair glanced at his warriors, still mounted. He didn’t say they’d been trying to leave the wood for hours but the trees kept closing in on them, the path twisting in wrong directions. “If we entered these blighted birches, others could as well.”
Grim clamped his jaw, his mouth setting in a tight, thin line.
“Ho, Grim!” One of Alasdair’s men edged his horse near and then leaned forward over the beast’s neck. “What were you looking for in the bushes along the burn? Naked water sprites?”
Grim said nothing.
Alasdair narrowed his eyes at him, furious. “What kept you from standing guard outside Skali?”
“I did.” Marjory stepped out of the trees to stand beside Grim. Eyes blazing, she stood as straight as if she’d swallowed a sword, her clipped tone chilly as the air.
Alasdair stared at her, seeing only her damned kissable mouth. Even frowning, she took his breath, made his entire body tighten with wanting her. Heated images flashed across his mind, all the ways he burned to possess her, show her how much he desired her.
Before she could guess, he lifted his gaze from her lips, met the icy blue of her stare.
“Lady Marjory.” He nodded curtly, returning her scowl.
“Blackshore.” She lifted her chin, his title cold on her tempting lips.
Several of his men sniggered.
Alasdair ignored them, seeing no one but the beautiful, indignant woman before him. Pure sensual heat poured off her, charging the air between them. Her braid had come undone and her shining hair spilled to her hips. She was breathing hard, her lips temptingly parted. She’d been running, but she looked bed-mussed, flushed, as if freshly sated, her pleasure still rippling through her. She tantalized him beyond reason. Her eyes were opened wide, blue fire snapping in their depths, high color staining her cheeks.
He’d never seen her more magnificent.
And rarely had he felt such a fury.
“This wood is no place for women alone.” He shot a glance at Lady Isobel, just emerging from the trees. Every bit as mussed as Marjory, she didn’t come close to firing his blood as did the angry vixen still glaring at him as if she hoped her stare would set him aflame.
Striding over to her, he curled his hand around her wrist, his grip firm. “You, especially, aught know that, my lady.” He lifted her hand, flicking a look at her sapphire ring. “There are aye men about in any glen. Brigands and rogues you dinnae wish to meet.”
A deep rumbling sound came from Grim’s chest and he took a step forward, balling his fists. “That’d be you, to my way of it.”
Ewan and some of Alasdair’s men crowded Grim, forming a snarling wall of plaid, steel, and muscle between their chief and Marjory. An argument ensued, voices raised and curses sworn, also the sound of a scuffle.
Alasdair scarce noticed.
He released Marjory’s arm, unable to bear the feel of her skin beneath his fingers.
Every inch of him burned to grab her and kiss the breath from her. He ached to be inside her. Kindle her fury into a raging, fiery heat that would consume them both until nothing remained but smoking cinders.
He looked her up and down, need searing him. She’d been running hard because her cloak had come askew, the edges gaping to reveal the blue woolen gown beneath. The soft material clung to her curves, showing how well-suited her body was for loving. She was made to be naked in a man’s arms, to writhe and moan in the throes of deep, sinuous pleasure. And he was the man who should introduce her to such carnal delights.
Nae, he was the only man she should know so intimately.
He fisted his hands, not from anger but to keep from grabbing her to him. He stepped closer to her, almost toe to toe.
“You’ll regret this meeting, Norn.” His voice was low, dark. His need was a fierce drumming in his blood, almost excruciating. But her nipples were chill-hardened, thrusting right at him.
Begging attention…
He caught her hand again and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, nipping the tips of her fingers. Behind them, his men were arguing with Grim. He didn’t care. Her skin was smooth, the taste of her nectar on his tongue. Hunger for her seized him, her soft gasp and the warm, feminine scent of her driving him wild.
“You should ne’er have left Nought’s walls.” He threaded his fingers with hers, turned her hand to kiss the soft underside of her wrist. “There are dangers in these parts, see you? And you’ve run right into the worst of them.”
“That I know!” She jerked free, stepping back to glare at him.
“You know naught.” Alasdair caught her by the waist, held her fast. “If you did—”
A strange roaring in his ears cut him off and he blinked, not sure if the sound was the thunder of his own blood or Grim shouting at him.
Then Grim loomed before him, his beard rings clacking. “Unhand her or—”
“Stay out of this.” Alasdair thrust out an arm, splaying his hand against the bastard’s mailed chest. “You neglected your duties—”
“He did not.” Marjory inserted herself between them, grabbing his wrist and lowering his hand with surprising strength. “I sent him into the wood. I’d seen a large dog near the burn and feared for Hella’s cats. Grim left us at my bidding.”
“Indeed?” Alasdair didn’t believe a word. He let a slow smile curve his lips, hoping to irritate her into telling the truth.
But she only put back her shoulders and pinned him with another icy stare. “Grim knows his duty. A pity you don’t have the grace to heed a lady’s wishes.” She lifted a hand, dashed a raindrop from her brow. “I made clear you aren’t welcome here.”
Alasdair’s temper snapped. “I go where it pleases me, lady. But I’ll own that we were on our way to Blackshore. We didn’t get far because every track in this devil-damned wood runs in circles.”
Marjory smiled, threw a look at Lady Isobel, almost as if they’d conspired for the wood to vex him.
Almost, he could believe it.
“If you can’t follow a track through the trees, you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” She drew her cloak tighter, briskly brushing its folds in place. “Someone else could’v
e delivered Hella’s herring.”
Alasdair couldn’t argue with that.
It was true.
“Why did you come here?” Marjory’s gaze held his, her blue eyes sharp.
She knew he had other reasons.
He did. But he wasn’t about to share them.
Leastways he had no intention of telling her he’d use any excuse in the world just to see her again. It didn’t matter if such a meeting took place in anger. Or if the circumstances made him look a fool.
There wasn’t much a man wouldn’t do when he wanted something badly enough.
And he wanted Marjory.
Worse, he desired her so fiercely that his need to be near her overrode his good sense. He should’ve sent one of his men with the widow’s herring. That same man could’ve journeyed on to Nought to question Kendrew about the tar he’d seen on the strand at the Dreagan’s Claw. His suspicion that one of his guards hadn’t seen a sea beastie in Loch Moidart but a black-painted coracle.
The forerunner of men he was sure wished to provoke a fight.
Men he believed were acting on Kendrew’s orders.
Now…
He’d struck Kendrew’s captain of the guard with such force that the man’s head had snapped back and his split lip was already swelling. Marjory was in a temper, clearly protective of her oversize watchdog. And after he’d fallen upon her, kissing her wrist and even biting her fingers, she no doubt held him for an ill-mannered craven.
Alasdair frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.
Had he ever made a greater mess of things?
Truth was, his wits fled whenever Marjory was near. She was speaking now and he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
“I asked why you’re here,” she lifted her voice, narrowing her eyes at him so that he half believed she’d read his thoughts. “I don’t believe it was to deliver herring.”
“We did take herring to the widow.” It was all he could think to say.
She did fuddle his wits.
Somewhere not too distant, thunder rumbled then. And the wind was picking up, bringing the sharp wet chill of an imminent downpour.
His men’s soured faces said they knew it.
Very shortly, they’d all be drenched. And if Marjory caught an ague, he’d never forgive himself.
“So you won’t tell me?” Her voice held an edge. The wind brought her scent closer, teasing his senses with a light, clean freshness reminiscent of a spring meadow. “I’ll give you no peace until you do.”
“I am well warned, my lady.” He almost laughed.
At last, a way to bind her to him.
Instead, a rusty old-dog bark drew his attention to the herring cart where Grim now stood. Alasdair frowned, knowing his favorite dog, Geordie, slept in the cart. Geordie was old, lame, and fond of any excursion outside Blackshore’s walls. He deserved his rest without being accosted.
His blood heating, Alasdair strode toward Grim. “Touch my dog and I’ll have a new sword belt from your hide. He’s no’ the wild beast you were searching for along the burn. Geordie wouldn’t—”
“I ne’er hurt animals.” Grim whipped around to face him, the twist of dried meat in his hand showing he’d been about to give Geordie a treat, not harm the dog. He patted a leather pouch hanging from his belt. “I aye carry food for dogs with me.”
Alasdair just looked at him, keenly aware of his men sniggering again.
Only this time they were laughing at him.
Geordie took the meat twist from Grim’s hand. He gulped it down with relish. Then, with surprising speed for his age, he snatched a second treat from Grim’s fingers. To Alasdair’s horror, Geordie then braced his front paws on the side of the cart and stretched to slurp Grim’s bearded face.
The big man grinned, reaching down to rub Geordie’s bony shoulders as the old dog swished his tail.
Alasdair felt heat sweep him, his chest tightening as he stared at the spectacle.
It was beyond acceptable.
Equally annoying, some of his men were swinging down from their horses, joining Grim beside the wagon.
One of the bastards took his hip flask from his belt and offered Grim a swig. Alasdair knew it was finest uisge beatha, fiery Highland spirits that a man didn’t generally share with a foe.
“I told you Grim is a good man.” Marjory appeared at his elbow. Her eyes glittered in triumph. “You haven’t told me why you’re truly here.”
Alasdair turned his back on the men—they were now passing round the whisky—and set both hands on Marjory’s shoulders, gripping tightly.
“I hoped to see you, lass. I want you.” He told her true. A great mistake, because as soon as the words left his tongue, her expression closed, turning frosty. He stepped back, shoved a hand through his hair. “I’d thought—”
“What?” She lifted a brow, her gaze twin shards of sapphire ice. “Did you wish to catch me unawares, slake your manly needs again?”
“Nae, that was no’ my intent. I did wish to see you, aye. I’ll no’ deny it. No’ more. But I had other reasons as well. Suspicions I hoped—”
“About my brother?” Her face went even colder. “All know you can’t abide him.”
“Sweet lass, I…” The words snagged in his throat. She was standing so near, the wind lifting her hair so the silken strands teased against him. He couldn’t breathe without inhaling her scent, an intoxication so feminine and entirely her own, its freshness maddening him. His heart slammed against his ribs and his head began to throb again. Another part of him also pounded as desire sluiced him, pouring like a fever into his blood, his loins.
He frowned. He was sure his need for her stood blazing on his forehead.
The soft clearing of a throat saved him. Relief, and something else, an indefinable emotion, flashed across Marjory’s face as she turned to her friend Isobel. The other woman stood a few feet away, watching them with a bemused smile.
“I, too, would hear what brought you here?” Isobel’s smile deepened as she came forward to hook her arm through Alasdair’s. “If your concerns have to do with the Glen of Many Legends, we at Nought should hear them.”
Marjory shot an annoyed glance to where Isobel’s hand rested on Alasdair’s arm. “He brought his worries to Nought’s hall not long ago. I cannot imagine he has anything of greater import to tell us now.” She looked at Alasdair, challengingly. “Unless he is again in need of—”
“Norn!” Isobel stepped away from Alasdair, her eyes rounding. “You forget yourself—”
“She is right to be wary.” Alasdair’s voice was rough, his emotions warring inside him. Half of him wanted to pull Marjory in his arms, haul her over his shoulder, and ride with her to Blackshore. The other half of him knew he had a duty to protect every man, woman, and child in the glen.
Torn, he glanced toward the herring cart where Grim had hitched himself onto the cart’s bed and was rubbing Geordie’s ears.
“Ho, Grim!” Alasdair called to him. “A word with you.”
The big man grunted and pushed to his feet, giving Geordie one last ear rub before he sauntered over to Alasdair, suspicion all over him.
“Aye?” He hooked his thumbs in his sword belt.
In the herring cart, Geordie whined. Worse, the sound of his tail thumping against the cart’s side proved that the dog liked Grim.
The thought made Alasdair’s stomach twist.
Grim cocked a brow, waiting.
“The other day at the Dreagan’s Claw, after you left…” Alasdair glanced at Marjory and Isobel, hoping his words wouldn’t frighten them. Then he told Grim everything he’d seen on the little beach, from the smears of pitch at the tide line to the smoored campfire that someone had taken such care to hide behind a low mound of stones. The only thing he left out was that he’d thought he’d seen his ancestor, Drangar the Strong, staring up at him from the strand moments before he’d hastened down the cliff path.
Grim didn’t need to know everything.
Be
sides, Alasdair didn’t believe in ghosts. He’d seen mist and nothing else. But the pitch on the rocks and the cold campfire had been real.
“I didn’t see anything the like when I was there.” Grim didn’t believe him.
Or he was lying.
“Men see what they expect to see.” Alasdair watched him closely. “I looked more carefully because I suspected something would be there.”
“And if there was?” Grim’s eyes narrowed.
“Then someone has been using the inlet to hide.” Alasdair was sure of it. “I’ll wager they’re up to no good, whoe’er they are.”
He didn’t say he suspected they could be mercenaries paid by Kendrew.
Grim was shaking his head. “The Dreagan’s Claw is nigh inaccessible. If the currents don’t sink a ship that comes too close to those cliffs, the rocks will rip the bottom out of any boat that tries to enter the inlet. Only a shipmaster bent on destruction would—”
“Vikings could pass those rocks with ease.” Alasdair spoke his worst concern. “Their shipmasters can take a ship to hell and return unscathed, no’ a scratch on the hull and nary a man lost.”
“Vikings?” Grim grinned, touched the heavy silver Thor’s amulet hanging round his neck. “Fear the Northmen, do you?”
A few feet away, Marjory and Isobel stood close together, their hands clasped tightly. Both women had gone pale and Alasdair wished there’d been a way to speak of the matter without alarming them.
“I fear no man.” He kept his gaze on Grim. “But I’ll no’ have unrest descend on this glen. You’ll no’ deny the Northmen aye bring trouble.”
Grim folded his arms. “I’d suggest you let Nought men deal with trespassers on our shores. If such intruders have even been here. If they harry you at Blackshore, then you can make them your business.”
“They have been at Blackshore.” Alasdair’s blood chilled at his suspicions. He was sure the two black-painted dragon ships had been sent by Kendrew. Worse, that they had something to do with Marjory.
Grim appeared unconcerned. “Ships passing your coast, howe’er they’re painted, say naught.”
“They were also in my loch.” Alasdair heard Marjory gasp and his heart clenched. “No’ dragonships”—he glanced at her—“but a black-painted coracle, slipping along beneath my stronghold’s walls. One of my men saw the boat from the ramparts.”
Seduction Of A Highland Warrior Page 22