by Mary Wine
“Easy, lass… ’Tis but a kiss.”
“But… you shouldn’t—”
Something flashed in his eyes that looked very much like the disappointment rippling through her now that he’d lifted his mouth away from her own. She longed for more, but he suddenly scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. Her belly twisted with excitement, the raw display of strength affecting her far differently than she would have expected. Instead of being frustrated by her helplessness, she felt compelled to boldly match him.
“Come with me, sweet lass, and I’ll make good on me promise to chase ye through the woods like a Highlander.” Broen spoke in a rich timbre laced with good humor. “Ye there… Lads, be sporting now and let me ravish this charming creature the way only a Scotsman can!”
There were sounds of laughter from the wall before the gate began to rise. Broen reached his stallion and released her for the moment it took him to gain the saddle. He reached down for her, shielding her from the sight of the Chisholms retainers. She hesitated, because in his eyes she witnessed the same desire that needled her. A flickering flame sparked to life by the kiss he’d pressed against her lips so briefly. It felt branded into her soul, the moment pounded deep into her mind.
She’d never forget him… or his kiss.
Or how much she wanted another one.
She gasped, startled by how deep her desire ran. It was as if she didn’t know her own nature and was just now being forced to face it. The Chisholms retainers weren’t doing anything to keep their voices low. She was actually grateful to them, for their conversation covered her gasp.
“They will nae be cold…”
“Nothing like a moonlight romp to make a man feel welcome…”
Broen let her feet down as he reached for the reins of his stallion and swung up onto the back of the animal with a grace that impressed her. No mounting blocks for this noble laird; he was as strong as the men he commanded.
Shaw and the others mounted, the squires gratefully handing over the animals so they might hurry back to their warm beds.
“Come, lass.” Broen’s voice was deep and full of something she wanted to avoid naming, an emotion that paired exceptionally well with the excitement still brewing in her belly. The moonlight cast him in silver, and he offered her his hand. For the moment, he appeared more legend than man, but her body was still warm from his flesh.
“Now she thinks on what her father will say in the morning…”
“Is nae that like a lass? All sweet kisses until the moment comes to make good on what she’s been promising…”
Their smugness sent her reaching for Broen’s hand. Her lips still tingled, but she’d trust him over the man who’d so boldly threatened to prove his worth to her before locking her in a cell. Broen pulled her up behind him.
“Hold on to me, lass, and hide yer face. They’ll think naught of yer wanting secrecy.”
But what would he think of her clinging to him?
You’ll like it, just as you enjoyed his kiss…
Maybe, but at least Broen was riding toward freedom. The horse surged beneath her, and the night air stung her unprotected hands where they rested on his belly. It was a surreal moment as they passed through the gate, and the Chisholms retainers chuckled. The night was dark and speckled with moonlight. Nothing made sense, for the fortress behind them was everything she’d been raised to think of as secure. But for the moment, the man taking her into the dark unknown represented more security than all three of the stone towers of Raven’s Perch.
His Highland home was suddenly more welcoming than England.
Three
They didn’t sleep.
Broen urged them forward, only taking time to allow her to transfer to her own horse once his men joined them. The mare hurried ahead of the stallions lined up behind it, carrying her weight easily in spite of the rough ground they covered.
Dawn cast its light over newly plowed fields and the farmers who rose early to begin planting. The last of the snow had melted, filling the rivers they crossed with roaring white water. They took the horses across carefully, but the water was high and wet her to the waist in the deepest rivers.
But the sun was warm when it rose completely. The wind died, but the motion of riding rippled her dress to help dry it. In spite of the fact that the sun began to dip on the horizon when they neared another river, Clarrisa considered slipping off her horse to swim across, because it had been too long since she’d bathed.
Such would be foolish, a risk she didn’t need to take, but she smiled anyway, allowing her mind to toy with the idea instead of dwelling on the approaching night.
There was something about darkness and Broen MacNicols. The combination was proving to be intoxicating.
You’re thinking foolish thoughts…
Yes, she was, and a half dozen lectures from her childhood rose to needle her with warnings of how wickedness would lead her to damnation. Her smile grew wider.
“I did nae expect to see such a pleasant look on yer face.”
She jumped, startling her mare. The animal sidestepped, moving too close to Broen’s stallion, which was right beside her now. The stallion snorted and made to nip the mare. Broen muttered something in Gaelic while trying to control his horse.
“Oh fie.” Her mare wasn’t waiting to see if Broen could master his stallion. It bolted. Clarrisa leaned low and thanked the saints for the fact she was in Scotland, where she didn’t have to ride sidesaddle. She gripped the mare between her thighs, matching the pace the animal set. Her heart beat faster as the wind burned her cheeks.
She laughed when at last the mare began to slow. Perspiration had appeared on her forehead, and she raised a hand to wipe it away. The mare slowed at the top of a ridge, the last rays of the sun illuminating the valley below. A river cut through it, the roaring sound filling Clarrisa’s ears.
A hard arm slipped around her waist and hauled her off the back of the mare in a flash.
“Ye’re insane, woman,” Broen hissed at her while holding her in front of him and keeping a hand on the reins.
The need to be bold surfaced, as though it had been waiting for the opportunity. Being held so close to him, able to smell his skin, ignited the urge so quickly there was no time for thinking.
“You’re the madman here.” She aimed a vicious shove at him, arching her body away from his. “Dragging me off my mare like some Highland savage.”
His arm didn’t slacken, not even the slightest amount, but his eyes narrowed. Clarrisa glared straight back at him, trying to master the urge to giggle. She was far past the age of giggling, for heaven’s sake, but he saw the amusement glittering in her eyes, and she watched his blue eyes light up with something very similar.
“I was perfectly capable of managing the mare.”
“Is that so, lass?” He slid his hand up her back to press her torso against his. “If ye are so adept, why did yer mare take off? A competent rider would have kept the animal under control.”
“A capable man would have held his stallion in check, or was that your way of having an excuse to handle me?” She was being bold and had no idea where she’d learned to talk so brazenly, only that it excited her.
His eyes flashed with something that looked very much like he was rising to meet her challenge. The arm around her tightened, and she suddenly noticed they were out of sight of his men.
“If ye understand what being handled means, Clarrisa, I assure ye, I have only begun to handle ye.”
His voice was low, but the promise was clear as a church bell. His attention lowered to her lips, setting off a longing inside her to have done with arguing with him.
Kissing him promised far more pleasure.
She shook off the wicked thoughts. “Enough. You appeared beside me like a specter, and it was your stallion that misbehaved by attempting to bite my mare. Yet I am not surprised, for it takes after the uncivilized nature of its master.”
She offered him a soft laugh, but it so
unded nervous. He didn’t join her in amusement this time; his eyes darkened, making her feel too hot to remain so close to him. The heat would soon affect her reasoning.
“Aye, I’m uncivilized, and that’s a truth I’m proud of, but I do admit to enjoying handling ye.”
She shouldn’t have liked his confession so much.
She froze, her fingertips resting lightly against his chest. She noticed how much she enjoyed touching him. Her stare settled on his, those blue eyes seeming deeper and more intense than she’d noticed before. Her belly twisted with nervous excitement as a quiver rippled across her skin. His shirt and doublet were open at the neck, allowing the garment to split and bare his skin. She moved her hand up so that two of her fingertips were resting on his warm skin. Such a simple touch, yet she felt it so intensely her breath caught.
“You should put me down.” Her voice was a mere whisper, the words feeling as though they were choking her.
“That is nae what either of us wants, Clarrisa.”
He smoothed his hand up her spine, sending out a flood of sensation. She was keenly aware of him. Time seemed to slow, ensuring she might experience every tiny motion. Details flooded her, the way his fingers cupped her nape one at a time, until he was gently gripping it. She heard the way his breathing deepened and became rough. She saw the way his nostrils flared slightly before his attention slipped to her lips and hunger glittered in his eyes.
“Ye want me to kiss ye.”
“Do not, Broen.” She turned her head away. “It isn’t right.”
She was pleading, but not because she feared he’d take what he wanted. It would be so much simpler if he did, easier for her to absolve herself of responsibility.
But it would make her a coward.
He blew out a harsh breath and used his grip on her neck to turn her face back toward his. Anticipation raked its nails down her spine. When she looked back into his eyes, it was clear she was inexperienced in the ways of passion, for what she’d witnessed before had only been the beginnings of hunger. Now desire blazed in full force in his eyes, and she recognized it in spite of all the times her uncle’s men had shepherded her away from situations where she might have learned about passion.
“What is nae right is selling ye to a man twice yer age and expecting ye to give him a son without him giving ye the respect of wedding. A maiden deserves such respect.”
Emotion threatened to strangle her. It was too thick, and she failed to smother a sob that rose from deep inside her in the only place she was free to admit what she truly felt. But she rebelled at the idea of sharing it with him. Between them was only the merest shred of trust, not nearly enough for her to allow him to see her heart.
“Yet it is common enough. I am hardly the first daughter to be bartered for the betterment of the family name. Release me now, Broen.” She pushed at him and arched to dislodge his grip on her neck. “I do not want you touching me.”
He grunted. “Liar,” he accused softly.
She jerked her attention back to his face, stilling for the moment. “I do not lie.”
His lips lifted in response, but the grin wasn’t mocking; it was arrogant. “No’ intentionally, I’ll grant ye that.”
“But… there is no middle ground when it comes to dishonesty,” she muttered, too breathless to suit her demand he release her. Deep and husky, her voice betrayed just how much she was enjoying his embrace.
“There is when ye have no concept of what it is ye’re feeling, Clarrisa.”
He moved his hand, gently stroking her nape. Delight raced down her body, raising a trail of gooseflesh as it went. Even her nipples contracted into hard points.
“Ye do nae understand why ye’re trembling or why a simple stroke makes yer insides twist…” He smoothed his hand over her nape again, and sensation spiked through her instantly. “Or why ye keep having to look away from me to avoid staring at me lips…”
Oh God, she was…
He turned her face toward him with a sure grip once again. His gaze lowered to her lips, focusing on them as the delicate surface tingled with anticipation.
“You’re toying with me,” she forced out.
He chuckled, low and deep. With the light fading, the moment took on a more intimate feel, because the night had ever been the sanctuary of lovers.
“I am guilty of that charge.” His grip was still solid on her nape. She was held immobile and at his mercy. “And a few other things too, lass, like wanting to tempt ye until ye kiss me back.”
She wanted to protest, but he didn’t give her the chance. Broen kissed her with all the force of the passion burning in his eyes. His mouth claimed hers, possessing it without mercy. She twisted, unable to decide how to bear all the sensation erupting from the kiss.
A reckless urge rose for her to press closer to him. It encouraged her to be bold and touch what she wanted while arching back to offer her breasts to him. She wanted to feel every bit of his hardness against her, pressing closer until there wasn’t any space between them. She slid her hand into the opening of his shirt, marveling at the enjoyment she gained from being skin to skin with him.
He pressed her lips open, and she lost the will to consider what she was doing. She gripped his shirt, pulling him toward her. She captured a soft growl with her lips and felt the vibration with her hands as it shook his chest.
“Sweet Christ, woman—”
Clarrisa cut him off this time, reaching up to cup the side of his jaw and turn his face back toward her kiss. Satisfaction blossomed inside her—that boldness that had needled her since the last kiss cheering her on as she tried to mimic his motions. She tilted her head so their lips might fuse more completely, pressing her mouth against his while teasing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Another growl surfaced from him, but his grip on her nape moved up until he’d captured one of her braids. He gripped it and took command of the kiss again. Her thoughts spun out of control, but she felt more than she’d ever imagined she might. Pleasure and delight swirled through her with such brilliant intensity she broke away before it drowned her.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” Shouldn’t have, because now she wanted more, and her discipline was long gone.
Surprise registered on his face, but she slipped out of his distracted hold and slid down the side of the horse. It was much farther to the ground than she had thought, and her ankle collapsed when she tried to make it take her weight. The stallion let out a snort as she struggled to regain her footing so close to its flank.
“Don’t be foolish, woman,” Broen growled. The stallion turned in a circle as Broen fought to command the strong-willed creature. When he brought the animal around, his knuckles were white from the grip he used to control the beast. “This is a full stallion, Clarrisa. Ye ride well enough to know better than to slide down its side like that. He could crush yer skull with his hooves.”
“It would have been more foolish to remain atop him.”
She turned her back on him but whirled back around when she heard his curse. There was a warning in his tone, as sure as the night had closed around them.
“Let me be, Broen MacNicols. Maybe you’re thinking I’m free with my favors, but I’m a maiden still.”
He smothered another word of profanity. “That’s plain enough.”
The man was furious, his tone condemning. Clarrisa propped her hands on her hips. “You don’t need to sound like it’s something I should be ashamed of.”
He tilted his head. “Cannae ye just be content with the fact that I believe ye are pure?” He muttered something else in Gaelic while looking to see where her mare had gone.
Frustration was shredding her. “I don’t know what I want from you,” she explained.
“A solid truth if ever I heard one,” he groused. “Come back here. Yer mare is out of sight.”
Part of her wanted to obey, but the sheer intensity of what his kiss had unleashed inside her made her shake her head. “I’ll walk.”
“Are the
pair of ye finished?”
Shaw’s voice hit her like a blast of winter wind. She turned to look up the hill, where the burly retainer sat on his horse. He was sideways, looking away from them, but he’d obviously noticed they were no longer embracing.
Broen kneed his stallion forward until the animal stood near her. He leaned down, his shoulder-length hair falling low enough to brush her shoulder.
“’Tis for sure we are nae finished, lass. No’ finished even by half.”
He reached down and grasped the wide leather belt that secured the Chisholms plaid around her waist. With a hard tug, he pulled her off the ground and sent her halfway over the back of the stallion. She shrieked, but he paid her no mind, pressing her down in front of him.
“We’re just getting started, and that’s me promise to ye, lass.”
Hard and determined, his voice carried a promise.
***
“The little lass has daggers in her eyes for ye.”
Broen shot Shaw a deadly look, but amusement sparked in Shaw’s eyes as he grinned.
“I thought ye wanted to warn me away from her and her scheming ways. Ye’re sounding like a woman with all yer mind changing.”
Shaw shot him a look Broen wasn’t interested in suffering, but Shaw was right.
“This business irritates me.”
“I’ve noticed, Laird,” Shaw replied. “As a matter of fact, so have the lads.”
Broen looked over his men. Most were sleeping; the only ones still awake were set to watching Clarrisa and the road. Broen felt his chin tingle. He’d just wasted precious time that he could have spent sleeping to shave—for a woman.
For an English woman.
There was no way to ignore the fact. It frustrated him and rubbed his temper, but the three-day growth of beard on his face had left the faintest of pink abrasions on Clarrisa’s delicate skin. Fatigue was pounding in the back of his head, and what was he doing? Preening for a female. And not even for Daphne.
He stopped for a moment, his temper cooling. He could recall Daphne MacLeod’s dark eyes but hadn’t thought of her during the days he’d been away from his land. Somehow her memory had slipped aside. He’d believed he couldn’t live without her, but obviously he could. The only saving grace to the knowledge was that she wasn’t waiting back at Deigh Tower for him. Women had a way of knowing what men were thinking when they were alone with them. He certainly didn’t wish her dead, but he didn’t want to think he’d have broken her heart. It was a cruel trick of nature that made men unable to do the same.