Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  The heat of a fresh fire washed over Ian’s chilled skin like the glow of heaven. He frowned at her. “Why were ye sleeping there?”

  Sylvi set the flint on the small table, away from the fire. “I was protecting you.”

  Chapter 5

  Whatever foolish reply Sylvi had expected from Ian did not come.

  “I dinna need yer protection,” he said after a brief silence.

  She almost laughed. He had been damn near sliding off his horse when they finally pulled into whatever this cluster of homes called their village. Like hell he didn’t need her protection.

  His face held a solemn look, and it kept so much as a smile from her lips.

  Apparently he did not see a jest in everything. Perhaps he was not the fool she initially assumed. Although now that his joking had ceased, she craved it over the serious expression.

  Perhaps she ought to apologize for having stripped away his humor with her bluntness. And she might have, if she were the apologizing type.

  Which she was not.

  But then, nor was she the type to share a room with a man. The circumstances were, of course, different now. She had to ensure he didn’t leave, not when he had more information. What’s more, she knew even if he were at his full strength and tried to accost her in the night, she could easily put a blade in his heart.

  Yet now he challenged her in his weaker state. It was almost endearing. She slid the dagger from her side. “Prove it.”

  “I’ve had my time with yer poisoned dagger.” He eyed her blade. “Let’s just say I willna be jealous if ye save that trick for another man.” He winked, and his serious expression lifted to be more jovial.

  “It’s not the same dagger.” Truth be told, she’d had enough of the poison herself. Still, she put the weapon back into its sheath on her belt. “But I don’t need a blade.”

  “Nor do I.” He crouched low in preparation for their battle.

  Weak firelight flickered over his face. The orange glow masked the pallor of his skin, making it difficult to discern if he was still pale. Regardless, she would go easy on him.

  She waited for him to strike first. He ducked low and swung for her stomach. She swept her hand down hard and knocked his hit off target. His attempt had been a strong one.

  He threw a punch at her face with enough speed to keep her from narrowly avoiding it. She darted out of his way. His foot flew behind her feet, and his body knocked against hers so she tumbled backwards.

  She would no longer go easy on him.

  She grasped his arms as she fell, hauling him to the floor along with her. He fell on top of her with his full weight. The breath fled her body in an oof.

  He pinned her beneath him and grinned. “How much coin did ye get for me?”

  It wasn’t only the weight of him keeping her in place, but the power of his muscles. He was indeed a strong man. She’d noticed it the previous night when they fought. It was not often Sylvi was taken down by anyone. Then again, she’d underestimated him just now.

  She knew better than to underestimate. Doing so had been a foolish oversight.

  “Come on then.” He cocked his head toward her as if they were in on the same shared secret. “How much did ye get for killing me?”

  “More than you’re worth.” She whipped her legs from under his and flipped him so she sat atop him. The warm eddies in her stomach whirled into a chaotic flurry. His legs were firm with muscle where they pressed against her inner thighs. She’d meant only to hold him to the ground, but now the awareness of their position scorched through her.

  She straddled him just below his crotch, her hands spread over his strong arms in her attempt to pin him. Still, the position was primal. Sexual.

  The quiet wrought by her sudden realization charged the air with a crackling, and completely unexpected, attraction. That damn arrogant smile quirked at his lips, and she remembered all too well how soft his lips were beneath the prickle of his beard.

  She had been with several other men before, a sweaty battle of bodies seeking to slake the fires of lust. Encounters as quickly left as they had been made, with no thought to them after. The hungry pulse in her center demanded as much now. But she was far too pragmatic to give in to such weakness.

  “Ye’ve got me, my angel.” The grin spread over his face, unabashed and bold. “What will ye do with me?”

  “Maybe I ought to use another poisoned dagger.” She bit the words out rather than give in to what made her cheeks burn hot.

  She shoved off him.

  He rose from the ground in a fluid, graceful move and caught her hand. She jerked back from him, her arm cocked back in preparation to continue their battle.

  His brown eyes were honey warm in the firelight, and his lips were full and tempting. “Thank ye for keeping me safe, Sylvi.”

  His nearness clutched at her chest and squeezed out all the air. But not before she noticed the draw of his scent, spicy masculine and sunshine and something like pine.

  She pulled away from him, putting necessary distance between them. “Thank you for not using a chamber pot when we fought this time.”

  His face split in a wide smile and he laughed, the sound a deep timbre, so lighthearted, she could not help the pull of lightness at her own heart. She realized then, for all the jests he’d told, she’d never once actually heard him laugh.

  She found she rather liked it. Grudgingly, of course.

  “I dinna know ye actually did jest.” He winked at her. “Ye’ve a bit of humor in ye after all.”

  “Don’t expect it from me again.” She turned from him and made her way to the bed. “If you’re thus recovered, I’ll take my time in the bed.”

  “We could share it.” His voice was silken in the quiet and teased a ripple of decadent chills down her spine.

  “I think not.” She flopped onto the bed. Darts of the straw beneath the rough sheet jabbed into her skin, but it was far better than the hard ground. She slid her feet beneath the covers and found it still held his warmth.

  And his smell.

  Though she told herself she didn’t want to, she discreetly breathed in deeply and held her breath, savoring. Her body hummed with the closeness of him. The hot pulse between her legs pounded with insistence, a raw need unlike any base desire she’d experienced before.

  The rustle of his clothing behind her told her he was settling on the ground with her pillow and the spare blanket she’d laid there.

  What would it be like to have him in her bed?

  The thought flitted in her mind before she could stop it.

  She clenched her eyes, as if doing so might push the idea from ever settling there. But lying in the bed still so reminiscent of him, breathing in his scent, having him so damnably close, she could not stop the thought from rising to the forefront once more.

  Her thighs were warm with the memory of his powerful body between them. What would it be like to allow his hands on her body, his full lips on her skin, those powerful hands peeling away her clothing …

  Her breath hitched in the darkness, and she rolled to the other side so the pillow beneath her blazing cheek was once more cool.

  She tried to will away her desire, the ridiculousness of it. The man who murdered her family, the one denoted with the half ear, was close. Vengeance was within her grasp. The last thing she needed crowding her thoughts was lust for a man she would never see again when this was done.

  But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop the insistent hum of desire from blazing through her veins and keeping sleep at bay.

  •••

  A soft cry sounded through Ian’s slumber. His eyes flew open to find the room lit with the gray light of fresh dawn.

  “Mor.” The feminine voice was small. Scared.

  Ian sat up straight on the hard floor, and his back gave a stiff couple of pops for his effort. God, he hated sleeping on floors.

  “Mor.”

  Ian looke
d to the bed and found Sylvi curled in a ball, her face scrunched with pain. Tears shone on her cheeks.

  Tears.

  Shock shook away the groggy effects of sleep. Sylvi seemed the kind of woman to drink the tears of her enemies, not make them herself.

  “Min mor.” Were it not for the parting of Sylvi’s mouth in time with the frightened whimper, he would never have believed it to be her who had spoken.

  He wanted to sit on the bed and wrap his arms around her, to protect her from the demons in her dreams. But he’d slept alongside enough warriors to know waking a skilled fighter mid-nightmare was a bad idea. At the very least, it was a damn good way to get punched.

  Ian knelt beside the bed and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from touching her. “It’s all right, lass.”

  A sob choked in her throat, and she began to weep, a soft, pathetic sound, like a child.

  Ian’s heart squeezed so hard, it shoved the breath from his chest. “It’s all right, lass. Ye’re safe.”

  Her face relaxed slightly and her quiet crying ceased.

  He tensed his arms where they were crossed over his chest. He wanted nothing more than to curl her against him and soothe away all her hurt.

  “No’ only are ye safe,” he said quietly. “Ye could take on anyone who fought ye.”

  She rolled over. He could no longer see her face and stared instead at her white-blonde hair, a mix of glossy strands and plaited braids. She made no more sound, and so he eased himself to the firm floor once more. But sleep did not come.

  Instead he lay awake, cradling Sylvi’s pain in his heart and wondering what could cause such a strong woman to break.

  •••

  Sylvi was watching him again.

  Ian knew this, of course, because he had been unable to take his eyes from her.

  The forest had thinned around them, giving way to the small town they sought for rest. His body was stronger now, still not restored to his former glory, but definitely stronger.

  Sylvi sat atop her horse with her back straight and her shoulders squared. Her chin lifted slightly, as if daring the world to try to take her on.

  And God help the world if it tried.

  Several people gaped up at her as she passed, and Ian’s chest swelled with pride to be with her.

  She was powerful and magnificent. Not at all the kind of woman who sobbed in her sleep.

  Yet after he’d witnessed it, she seemed so much more than a cold warrior, and he liked her all the more for it. And he already liked her a considerable amount.

  Her cool blue gaze slid over to him and darted away. Caught.

  Ian grinned. Warmth glowed through him despite the merciless bite of the wind. He knew attraction when he met it—a hum of mutual need, a sweet taste in the air melting between them.

  Theirs was a careful dance of discretion and inescapable curiosity. The most delicious kind.

  “You made it an entire day on the road.” Sylvi threw a glance in his direction. “It appears you are recovering well.”

  “I’ve always been a man with good vitality.” He winked at her to give his words a flirtatious slant.

  Color blossomed in Sylvi’s cheeks, like red berries against snow—impossible to miss and incredibly beautiful.

  She looked away quickly. “This one.” She nodded toward an inn near the back of town with a clean facade and no intoxicated patrons slouched at its entrance. An absence of drunks and whores usually meant a cleaner, more hospitable accommodation.

  Ian hopped off his horse when they arrived and turned to Sylvi. He held up his hand in a mute offer to assist her from her own steed.

  She raised a pale brow. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Being a considerate man like my ma taught me.” He tilted his head. “And possibly trying to get the opportunity to caress the waist of an angel in doing so.”

  Sylvi scoffed. “Not much of a gentleman.”

  But she placed her hand in his and let him catch her as she slid from the horse, to ease her descent to the muddy ground. His hands went beneath her thick mantle to ensure he held her firmly. Her body was warm and strong against his palms.

  Her gaze met his and heat blazed between them. But there was no shy glance of interest like Ian was used to with other women. Not Sylvi, not his vengeful angel. A predatory look glinted in her eyes and sent a wicked tremor of excitement coursing through him.

  His hands lingered on her slender waist. She kept her eyes locked on his and gently pushed his hands down to her hips and off her body. “I’ll go secure the room while you handle the horses.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned and left him standing there in the mud.

  He swallowed.

  The room.

  Meaning only one.

  All the heat in his body rushed to his cock at the prospect. He was glad for the large mantle he wore lest he make quite the spectacle of becoming blatantly aroused, while tending to the horses no less.

  Ian led the horses to the stable and tried to think of many other things: the steps for securing the horses overnight, the careful battle moves he practiced regularly, Agnes, his mother’s maid, and how her jowls quivered like jelly. All things decidedly not sexual. Anything to discourage the roar of lust from swelling at his crotch.

  If he entered their room with his poker pointing directly at her, and he was mistaken, she might try to cut it off.

  Besides, if he was right, he’d have no problem being at the ready for his angel.

  He tended the horses faster than he’d ever done, and most likely more thorough than ever with his intense concentration on the task. His efforts had paid off, and the discomfort of arousal had softened into something far gentler.

  Still, his heart pounded as he climbed the stairs and headed to the door where the tavern wench had directed him. The lass had given him the shy smile of interest. One he easily ignored in favor of Sylvi’s predatory glance.

  Chapter 6

  Sylvi’s mind pulled in too many directions and yanked her heart along with it. The palpable frustration at having lost Reginald and the opportunity to avenge her family was forefront. Always forefront.

  Urgency grappled at her nerves to get to Kindrochit in case Reginald sought her out for her failed mission. She didn’t know who the two men were who had attempted to find Reginald and his band of marauders, but she would not put the ladies of Kindrochit Castle at risk. Not that she needed to worry about her girls. They knew well how to defend themselves.

  Yet through it all, she had a nagging fear she’d pushed Ian too hard on the trail, and it warred with her need for expediency. He wouldn’t admit to needing time to recover, even if he had fought well.

  Hell, she didn’t blame him. She was never one to admit to weakness.

  Then there was lust.

  Her skin still hummed with the memory of his touch, and her blood pounded through her veins. Everything in her seemed fixed on recalling the details of his charming grin and the softness of his warm mouth. Her mind even dredged up every suggestive comment he’d made and tethered it to the excitement robbing her of breath.

  It was obnoxious, this distraction.

  She’d never experienced lust on this level before. The other men had been easily enjoyed and left, without complications. Not like with Ian, who stoked the heat of her interest to a searing need, and whose damaged relationship could cost her dearly.

  Footsteps sounded outside the door and stopped. Her heart fluttered with an uncustomary nervous anticipation. The latch creaked and the door came open.

  Ian came in, his cheeks and mouth red beneath his beard from the February chill. He’d still worn his kilt beneath the heavy mantle. Surely his legs must be chilled.

  She wanted to press the warmth of her body to the coolness of his. Her face, her mouth, her legs, and the insistent heat throbbing between them.

  “I don’t like this.” She spoke so abruptly, she startled even h
erself.

  Ian raised his dark brows and scanned the plain square room with an exaggerated gaze. “We can get another room if ye like. Or go to another inn. There was one—”

  “What’s going on between us.” Her face burned, and she inwardly stumbled over herself, all words and thoughts now an awkward, clumsy tangle.

  “There’s no’ anything going on between us.” The velvety tone he spoke with teased over her nerves. “Yet.”

  Chills prickled pleasantly over her skin.

  She unfastened her belt. “You’re a ridiculous distraction.” His eyes followed the belt’s descent to the wooden floor.

  “I personally like it.” He did not move, as if he feared he might somehow set her off.

  Which he surely might.

  Sylvi didn’t know what she was capable of right then. Her hands shook with pent-up energy, like being ready for a battle that did not come.

  “You like it?” She stalked over to him. “This anxiety? This obstruction in our task? This weakness of the body?” She didn’t stop until she was directly in front of him.

  He stared down at her with hot, hungry eyes. “Do you mean the way our bodies are savoring each other when we havena so much as touched? The way being near ye makes my skin warm with the awareness of ye?” His fingertips brushed the back of her hand, set her skin on fire. “The way each innocent caress is as intimate as making love?”

  Sylvi’s nipples drew taut. She remembered to breathe, yet her head spun with a lack of air. “I do not like it,” she whispered.

  “Because ye canna control it.” He stared deep into her eyes.

  “Then let us have one another and be done with it.” She shoved him back onto the mattress in the corner. He fell upon it with such ease, he might have tossed himself there of his own volition. The bed ropes gave a long, low squeak.

  She pulled off her boots, keeping her gaze fixed on him. Then the trews and the hose she wore beneath them for warmth. Next she jerked the léine over her head and unwound the binding over her breasts until it was loose enough to shove down over her hips.