At their meeting, he had sported a perfect face. Had the petite, golden-haired niece of an enemy clan’s leader heard rumors of his disfigurement? If she refused him now, war would continue another hundred years.
He forgot his lack of passion for his prospective bride when the black-haired beauty standing before him smiled. Desire washed over him. His jaw clenched with indecision. Pain seared across his scarred cheek and caused his hands to fist.
Her smile brightened.
Decision made, Kirk slipped the leather belt from his body. He smiled when her attention locked on the large piece of pleated wool as it fell to his feet. Wearing only his boots, Kirk stood proud in his nakedness. His erection jutted out straight as an arrow, aimed at the woman with generous curves and hair black as midnight.
When he let out a calming breath, renewed pleasure flew through him, and urged him forward. Her scent, intoxicating and sweet, made him want to taste her. No woman had quenched his thirst in months. The urgent need to savor this woman coaxed his feet to walk closer. No such desire filled his heart when he thought of Lady Fia.
Kirk covered the distance between them and grabbed her by the upper arms. His fingers trembled as they circled the pale skin below the lace of her short, puffy sleeves. Her breath hitched and she met his gaze. She raised her obstinate little chin. Her proud stance melted his heart, but his aching body forced his voice to break the silence.
“How much?”
* * *
“Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?” Haven said. His words struck her as nothing but a proposition. The next second, she was running. Faster and faster she ran, unaware if she escaped in the correct direction. Her lone slipper had disappeared the moment she’d spun, and dashed across the meadow. She ran like the wind past scattering sheep and screaming crows. Their protestations did not deter her in her single-minded conclusion to put distance between her and the naked giant.
Shards of broken pinecones bloodied her bare feet as she trampled them in her haste, yet she ran until she reached the relative safety of the trees at the opposite side of the large meadow. Out of breath, she laid one palm flat against the prickly bark, and paused. Supported by the tree, she caught her breath. Haven slapped her other palm on her shaking chest. Her feet throbbed, and her calves screamed. Breathing proved difficult so she forced her lungs to inhale slow, deep breaths.
“I cannot afford to pass out while—”
“Why did ye run from me?”
“Eek!”
His shadow blocked the sun. She’d never heard him approach, yet there he stood. Before words could form, she glanced at a face filled with remorse under tilted eyebrows and a deep frown.
Her attention landed on his scar. It cut diagonally across his left cheek, a dark red slash in his otherwise perfect, tanned, skin. Similar marks traversed his forearms and belly. Pity began to well up inside until she remembered he had stripped in front of her then asked her price.
As if I was some back alley prostitute!
He had wrapped his plaid around his lower half. At her perusal, his skin grew ruddy and his muscles tensed. Embarrassment had quelled his lust, and his plaid lay flat against his groin. Maybe he’d fallen under her spell. She’d been weaving a love spell yesterday with her herbs and minerals. Or, his attentiveness might be a normal reaction to a woman alone. She had to nip this in the bud before the man embarrassed himself further.
Then she remembered his words. The shock of his proposition immediately changed her attitude. Her cheeks and breasts grew hot with anger. Her fists clenched and she took a step closer. He must have registered her reaction because he stepped back.
She lashed out.
The slap hit him across his scar. When he winced, she instantly regretted her actions. Haven didn’t wait for his apology and ignored the fact she should offer one of her own. Instead, she limped away.
A meaty fist lashed out and grabbed her wrist. Haven stared down at his hand and shuddered. Heat of a more intimate sort seared her bare skin and a tremor pulsed between her thighs.
“Answer me, woman. What disgusts ye so about me to make ye run away? Am I too hideous for a beauty such as ye to accept my coin?”
Haven stared up at him and gasped. He released her arm. His grimace pulled at the dark scarring on his cheek and physical pain registered in his eyes. She regretted causing him more pain, yet hadn’t he been the one who insulted her with his disgusting suggestion?
“Let me get this straight,” she said. Haven hoped her voice did not hint at the sensual stirrings flooding her body. The minute she’d felt his touch, her womb clenched. What was up with that? His proposition repulsed her, but his handsome face and magnificent body had affected her in the most basic manner.
Right before my better judgment told me to run.
“You accuse me of trading sex for money, and I am the one to explain?”
The giant, who hadn’t even told her his name as yet, stood in silence. His gaze bore into her with more attention than when they first met across the stream.
“My lady, I beg forgiveness if yer dress and circumstances led me astray. Due to the less than fine upkeep of yer clothing and the reference about working at camp, I took yer words to mean ye be a camp follower. I only wished to make use of yer favors before the rest of my men filled yer bed.”
Her shock made her eyesight swim. Surely a man this attractive had no trouble finding dates. Why would he think whores spent the weekend at family-oriented Highland games?
“Does my scarring disgust ye?”
“Heavens no!”
His face softened. A slight smile sprouted, changing his entire look. From his broad shoulders to his tanned upper arms and chest, his handsome ruggedness made Haven’s body ripple with pleasure.
How absurd.
It took another moment to realize he’d spoken again.
“What did you ask?”
“I have adequate coin to fill yer pockets. I am no lowly archer, but the chief of my clan. Out for a hunt, I am indeed fortunate to find so tasty a prey.” The giant whispered the last sentence as his large fingers reached out and stroked her cheek.
“I am not for sale,” she whispered, but did not pull away. A smile crept along her mouth at his kind words until, much to her annoyance, she remembered he wanted to use her like a common prostitute.
“Have I erred?”
“Damn right, mister. What is your name, anyway?”
“Kirkwall Gunn, chieftain of Clan Gunn of the moors of Caithness and the village of Keldurunach. And yours, my sweet?”
Since he must be a visitor from Scotland, he’d be leaving the country soon. No use sharing her complete identity with someone she’d have nothing to do with once she made it back to the village and he left the country. “You may call me Haven.”
“Ye even bear the name of the sweet sanctuary a man searches for in the arms of a woman.” He chuckled.
Great. He’s gone from rude lothario to the Joker.
Haven bit her bottom lip to keep from lashing out with unladylike curses. “Actually, my mother named me for the nymphs of the ash tree.”
His loud guffaw only made her bristle more.
“My clothes are in this condition because I spent a rainy night in the woods due to a storm. A cut hand accounts for the blood. I usually keep my hair combed and better tended, but, as I said, I spent an unintentional night on the ground. I lost one shoe and then the other, and I am in no mood to explain myself to a stranger.”
“I offer my humblest apology, dear lady. I should offer aide to help ye reach safety and yet my mind has strayed to more pleasant thoughts.”
“Not only your mind,” Haven muttered. The bulge beneath his plaid had returned. “I’m not looking for a camp full of men. The historical village is on the side of a mountain, near several open meadows. There are a few sheep, several Highland cows, and about ten thousand people milling about. Aren’t you on your way to enter the competitions? ”
His eyes opened wide
at her statement. A smooth, glossy set of abdominal muscles jiggled when he slammed both fists on his hips.
“Ten thousand, did ye say?”
“Yes, Iona told me the attendance every day at the festival is large. Why?” A shot of fear spiked along her spine when his smile dropped into a frown. Even his scar took on a taut, dark visage. When a warm breeze blew several strands of his hair over the offending blemish, she contemplated his stubble. He looked like a sleek wild cat, ready to pounce. And he looked familiar.
“The man from my vision,” she said.
He’s here, in the flesh. Devil’s own luck, this is so strange.
Haven stepped back and tripped over a tree root. She landed on her bottom, expelling a loud breath of air.
I am such a klutz!
“Take care, my lady.”
Before she could wriggle to her feet, he reached down and lifted her with ease. He brushed twigs and dried mud from her bottom until she slapped his hand away.
“Stop that. I assume by your costume that you’re also attending the games. I figured you knew its location. If prostitutes—or whores—work the Highland games, it’s news to me. I hate to disappoint you, but, don’t touch me again.”
* * *
They left the sheep-filled meadow long behind. Kirk pushed through branches and low bushes while he searched for the trail back to camp. When she had spurned his advances, bile rose in his gut. Women once came willingly to his bed. He’d suffered the wound only recently and his visage had lost its appeal.
“The one time I decide to pay for a whore, she refuses,” he muttered. He rarely sought physical pleasure within his village. A few women worked the trade, but even outcasts in his own clan shrunk from his touch. The pressure in his groin did not disperse simply because he traveled with a lady of virtue. The more he looked at her pale, lush breasts and her long, tapered neck, the harder he grew.
I must leave her be. I won’t force myself on a woman.
“Good to know.”
Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? This woman from his dreams acted intuitive. She would catch an untruth and throw it back in his face with a vengeance. He mumbled a curse.
“What’s that?”
He decided to lie. As a laird, his thoughts were private.
“I said I am sad.”
“Sad? What could possibly bring tears to your big blue eyes?”
She had noticed the color of his eyes?
“I am sorry ye are not a woman of coin, because I believe a roll in the heather with ye could be the sweetest blessing I might experience all year.”
Without another word, or a glance at her face, he picked up the pace and left her in his dust. He would not deny he wanted her. His men would find her attractive. She seemed unaware of this fact. Dirty clothes and torn lace did not detract from the lovely roundness of her hips and the delicate fingers he earlier watched twirl a few satiny curls of her raven-black tresses. He would give the entire contents of the treasure wagon for just one night inside her—”
Slam!
Hit from behind, he fell. Stunned, he felt the point of a tiny but sharp dagger bite into the skin beneath his right ear as a warm knee pressed into the small of his back. Kirk spit dirt from his mouth and turned his head to the side.
“How dare you suggest something so disgusting! I don’t—how did you put it—‘roll in the hay’ with anyone. Don’t move,” she said.
“Aye, I thought I might lie here awhile.” He turned his head a bit. “At least until I see but one of ye.”
“What? Did I hurt you?”
The moment the pressure lessened, Kirk spun, grabbed the fist holding the weapon, and deftly threw her to her back. Rolling, he covered her body with his own. Her enraged shrieks battered his ears. Her molten glare bore into his face. As he stared down at her loveliness, she softened beneath him.
“Please.” She ceased her struggles.
“What do ye think yer doing, threatening the laird of the Gunn clan? Such an act of treason could earn ye a swift death. And if ye lay another scar upon my body, I’ll see to it yer death is slow and painful.”
Her mouth opened and closed before her tongue darted out to wet her berry-red lips. Kirk’s body betrayed him once again and he knew the minute she felt his burgeoning erection. Tears sprung from her pale green eyes. When her body shook with gentle sobs, he sighed.
“Quiet, lass. I mean ye no harm. ‘Tis the truth. My words were spoken in jest. Why did ye attack me with yer weapon drawn? Am I so offensive to yer eyes ye would rather put me from my misery?” He curled one fist around both of her slender wrists then hoisted them above her head. Her breasts, crushed under the weight of his chest, were nearly exposed.
Kirk’s tongue lashed out and tasted the creamy flesh above the tattered lace. His erection pulsed each time she breathed beneath him until he felt her terror-filled shakes subside.
“Please, let me go.”
Her whispered plea affected him as swiftly as a pail of icy creek water. He rolled from atop her and lay on his back. Kirk gently set her sgian dubh between her perfect breasts. Her flesh quivered, propelling him to his feet. Kirk sighed then brushed leaves and dirt from his clothing. He pulled her up and he coughed when she dusted off her curvy bottom.
“Where there are sheep, there is apt to be a farmhouse. They’ll know the way to the games,” she said.
He listened, but ignored her words since the lass was mistaken. No buildings lay nearby. His cousin Cameron had scouted this area before they began their trek.
“We are quite alone. No buildings. No people. Only sheep and a few hungry men. My camp is near.”
She must have smelled the cook fires because her stomach rumbled. He nodded toward the trees.
“I see smoke.”
“Aye. The noon meal will be ready upon my return.”
“I missed breakfast.” She rubbed her stomach through the muddy gown.
He laughed out loud.
“It’s not funny and Jake will be hurt.”
“Ye worry over a man?” His voice boomed. The treetops exploded as dozens of large birds took flight. Her cries of alarm brought on a surge of guilt.
Why should I care about an unknown man whose name flew from her lips with familiarity?
Kirk’s steps faltered. Jealousy, a foreign feeling with his history, mocked him. “I am sorry if I frightened ye.”
“You didn’t. Those birds sure did. Jake taught me about falcons and hawks and I know they won’t hurt me, but, they sure look scary.” She sighed as if she recalled a sensual memory then added, “He’s been especially nice to me.”
Kirk inhaled a few deep breaths then continued his trek toward camp. He left her to contemplate his rival for her affections. A chilling thought sliced through his chest and reminded him of the reason for his trek toward Castle Ruadh. As long as he and his men survived any more of Mackenzie’s attacks, his own betrothed waited for him.
CHAPTER 9
Haven clasped one trembling hand over her heart and fingered the dagger through the fabric. The naked flesh above her breasts tingled from the memory of his tongue, but didn’t dampen the pain of her damaged soles. She stepped cautiously through the heavier brush. Why had they meandered off the better trail?
Damned if I’ll ask him.
The giant—Kirkwall, as he called himself—sprinted ahead. Pine needles and uneven roots hindered her progress. She cringed at every pebble and squishy mushroom. His guttural voice that had spit curses ever since she’d bashed him on the head, faded away.
Should she pick another path? How could she be sure he led her to safety? He had assured her a camp full of men lay in this direction. Would the camp have similar well-built examples like this guy?
If so, I’m screwed.
She chuckled at her own sick joke. A sound rose far to her left. Metallic clangs and deep voices drifted toward her from far away. Curiosity made her veer off the crude trail. Haven’s heart rate quickened. She must be getting close to the athlet
ic competition area at the Highland games.
As she plunged through the trees and underbrush as fast as her sore feet would allow, loud voices loomed ahead. She nearly wept with relief. Haven looked forward to a bath even if she had to pour Jake’s barrel of water over her head. She broke free of the thick forest greenery and stepped onto a grassy knoll by a boulder-strewn cliff.
Her immediate halt brought instant relief to her pain-wracked feet. She wiggled her toes in the soft grass and gazed out over a large meadow of green dotted with vibrant wildflowers.
Flowers that shouldn’t be blooming in September amid grass that ought to have dried into pale, brown hay.
Haven swung her attention in the direction of grunts and groans. When she spied the individuals who caused the sounds, any sane woman would return to the safety of the trees.
Never said I was sane.
A herd of magnificent horses, with coarse manes, muscular backs, and long tails flicking back and forth, munched grass near a bevy of tents. The camp looked nothing like the one at the Highland games. Her eyes drifted from the large horses to the men. Big, muscular, sweaty, half-naked men.
Oh, my.
Every head turned, with the exception of a tall man dressed entirely in black leather. He wielded a huge sword and checked-up when his opponent stilled his own blade.
“Ha! Did I say that aloud?” Haven tried looking nonchalant, as if men stared at her with a hungry look every day. Mesmerized by the man’s straight back, swirling cloak, and impressive weapon, Haven gasped when he lowered his sword, turned to face her, and his expressive eyes widened. Haven sucked in a stilted breath as she looked at his face.
“Cal?” Her gut clenched and her heart fluttered in fear until she looked closer.
Impossible. He isn’t Cal.
The man leering at her stood at least four inches taller and carried a good thirty pounds more solid muscle. His severe clothes matched his shoulder-length, coal-black hair and beard, unlike Cal’s shorter, stylish cut. As he slid his sword inside a leather scabbard at his side, she focused on a dagger at his other hip that was twice the length of Ross Mackenzie’s dirk.
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