Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  This could very well be her last night alive. She felt more than lucky to have made it. Her survival was owed to Macrath. If he’d not happened by when the wolves were ready to pounce on her, she would have died.

  Tonight, she wanted to celebrate being alive and she wanted to spend it with the one person she’d connected with. The one person who’d ensured that she’d made it. When all sounds outside her tent faded. No more rustling. No more footsteps.

  Ceana stood and tiptoed to the tent flap. Heart pounding like a thousand drums, she cracked open the flap and peered out into the night. Torches were lit in the center between the sides, and several guards were posted.

  Zounds. She should have known about the guards.

  Well, it didn’t matter. She’d sneak past them. If she could make it through the night in the woods, she could make it through a maze of guards.

  Ceana pulled the plaid of her gown around the back up over her head, hoping to hide any glint of light off her fiery hair. She pulled off her boots, anticipating being barefoot would silence her steps. She slipped outside of the tent, keeping her back flat against the fabric and cautiously checked her surroundings. There was no one within this line of tents, so she easily skipped to the very edge by the wall until she could press her back to the stones. She inched her way along until she came to the first of the female tents. There were no guards on the ground here, but they were high upon the wall. If they happened to look down, they’d find her.

  There were six guards in the center, but they were all occupied passing around a flask of something—most likely whisky.

  Taking a deep breath, she held it in and when she was certain none of them were looking her way, she lifted her skirts and ran across the lane, ducking behind a tent so the guards on top of the gate wouldn’t see her, nor could those in the center.

  She let her breath out slowly, her lungs burning painfully from having held it so long. When no one shouted at her, or came running, she took assessment of her placement behind this tent as opposed to the water barrels. Macrath’s tent should only be three to the right and two back.

  Crossing the lane was the hardest part. Sneaking behind the tents until she was certain to be at the right one was easy. But if it wasn’t the right one, she risked being called out by whatever stranger lurked within.

  Ceana took one last look at the placement of the tent, and was positive this was the one she’d seen him go inside. Taking another deep drawn breath, she slipped her fingers through the flap and slowly pulled it open. Sprawled on his back with his arm flung over his face was Macrath. His chest was bare, and while he didn’t wear his plaid pleated around his hips, it was flung over the tops of his thighs and abdomen.

  Ceana let out her breath as she entered the tent. Before she could even draw in another, Macrath had sat up and swung his sword a foot from her throat.

  “Ceana,” he whispered. “I nearly gutted you.” He set the sword back down. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…” She stepped forward, her voice faltering. Ceana slipped her plaid from her head and knelt before him, her knees touching his thighs, the heat of his body warming her. “I need you.”

  Macrath didn’t say anything. Simply stared at her, his face tight and filled with angst. But that disquiet quickly turned to hunger. He slipped his hand along her cheek and tugged her forward until his lips met hers. Warmth encompassed her, filling her body with fire, making her so weightless, she thought she could fly. Her insides pulsed, thrumming the same tune she’d experienced in the woods.

  Oh, gods, but this was what she’d craved since last they’d parted.

  They tumbled down to his bedroll, and she was filled with the scent of him, masculine, dangerous. And she loved every breath of it. If she were to die tomorrow, at least she would have one glorious night.

  Chapter Six

  In the pitch black of Macrath’s tent, the frenzied heat of their desire was made all the more potent by the danger incurred from sneaking inside.

  Ceana was enveloped in warmth and pleasure, certain she never wanted to leave this spot or the fevered sensations filling her. What started as a frantic need to make love slowly turned languid as they both surrendered to pleasure.

  Macrath stretched out beside her, smelling of clean masculine skin and desire. One of his thighs possessively curved over the top of hers, pressing her into his bedroll. His arm curled beneath her head. Heated lips trailed a searing path over her neck, the shadow of his facial hair scraping deliciously over her skin. A rough palm massaged her hip, and she tilted into him, her free leg hooked over his calf. She fought the need to wrap herself around his hard, hot body.

  In complete darkness, their embrace should have felt anonymous, except it was anything but. She’d chosen to come to his tent. Chosen to give herself to him this night. Needed to escape the fear the games wrought on everyone. Death loomed and right now she needed to feel alive.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, the softness of his locks tickling her palm and between her fingers. With her free hand, she gripped onto his bicep, marveling at his strength as he held himself slightly over her. He was so much bigger than she, making her feel an exciting thrill, but also safe in his arms.

  Ceana had never made love. Never done more than kiss a man before she met Macrath. And she was more than pleased to be here, with him. If tonight were to be her last night alive, and gods willing it wouldn’t be, but if it were, she was going to make the most of it. A soft sigh escaped her lips as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Yes, this one night she was going to give to herself. Saving her maidenhood for a husband who might never be seemed silly now.

  She was eager to expand on the taste of pleasure he’d given her in the woods. Keen to let go of all the pain, terror and anguish the past twenty-four hours had brought.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, lass?” His breath tickled over her ear, tongue flicking at the sensitive flesh just below.

  She slid her hand down his forearm, her fingers entwining with his. “Aye. Is it working?”

  He chuckled, the noise rumbling in his chest, vibrating against her breasts. If only there were more light to admire him by. She could feel the ridges of his muscles, the subtle covering of chest hair beneath her palm as she slid her hand over to where his heart beat.

  “I admit that I’ve never had a woman sneak into my place of rest before.” He lifted upward, and she felt, rather than saw, him looking down at her.

  She chewed her bottom lip, realizing just how bold she’d been sneaking in here, but she didn’t care, nor would she change her mind if given the chance to do it again. “I am your first seductress, then?”

  “Aye.” There was a teasing lilt in his voice and she could tell he was pleased.

  Ceana smiled. She liked that she wouldn’t be the only one with firsts tonight. Though from the way he touched her, she knew he was adept in the art of pleasuring. And oh, how she wanted to feel more. She arched her back, her hardened nipples rubbing against his chest. What would it feel like to tug down the front of her gown and let her bare flesh touch his?

  “Och, lass,” his lips grazed hers. “You tempt me to madness.”

  “Madness?” She felt some of that. Sensations whirled inside her that made no sense and that she could not explain, nor did she want them to cease, but to catapult her into another world.

  “Aye.” He swiveled his hips pressing the hard length of his arousal against her hip. The feel of it sent a jolt of fire racing through her. “You have no idea…”

  Ceana gasped. Theoretically, she did have an idea. Growing up she’d seen plenty of animals mating, even seen the rocking of bodies beneath blankets when the made camp on journeys. And there was a deep yearning inside her. A need that probed the very edges of her sanity. If that was how he felt, than she could understand. Ceana trailed her bare toes up the back of his calf, the juncture of her thigh pressing hotly against his leg which was settled between both of hers. She stifled a moan of pleasure at the contact, an
d pressed harder. Caressed his bare back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her fingertips.

  He nuzzled her nose. Kissed her temples, then brought their entwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his breath tickling her skin and sending a shudder through her.

  “But we cannot,” he murmured.

  Ceana froze. Hand stilled its exploration. Her foot dropped back to the ground. Confusion cleared her haze of desire and pleasure. “What?”

  “Lass, why have you come to me?” Macrath still held her, made no move to leave her, only bewildering her more.

  “Because, I…” Her throat tightened. “Because, I wanted to.” She tried to tug her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go, kept his grasp wound around hers.

  “Aye, I gathered you would risk your life for desire, but what has fueled your need?”

  She didn’t hesitate in her answer. When Ceana made a decision, it was because she’d already had the chance to think about it. “You have.”

  Macrath chuckled softly. “You flatter me, but I know there is more to it than that.”

  Ceana huffed a breath and shoved against his chest. “Any man would be glad to take what I offer, but you shun me.”

  Macrath didn’t budge. “I would never shun you.” He gripped her hand and pulled it down to cup the long, solid length of his arousal. “Do you feel this? I want you.”

  Ceana shook her head. His naked length pulsed against her palm. “I don’t understand. Why are you pushing me away?” He wanted her. She wanted him. Why did there have to be any question about it?

  “I but wonder at your motivation. Did you come to me out of fear? Is that what has fueled your need?”

  She faltered, her hand still pressed to his turgid flesh. How could she concentrate with his skin singeing her palm? “You make me feel… safe.”

  Macrath kissed her lingeringly on the forehead. It was a tender move. She closed her eyes, glad for the lack of light that hid her glistening eyes.

  “Ceana, I’d never expect you to return the favor of my protection with…anything.”

  She huffed. “I did not come to you intent on paying for your protection or repaying you for favors.”

  Macrath let out a sigh. “And I’d not make love to you because of fear. I’d never take advantage of you.” He let go of her hand and in the shadows she thought she saw him swipe it through his hair. He appeared as frustrated as she was. “I want desperately to take off this gown of yours,” he plucked the fabric, “and ravish you until you scream with pleasure. But I won’t. Not yet. We both need something to look forward to, despite our own needs to win this game. Let us save this—us—for a future prize.”

  She retracted her hand from his length and subtly pushed against his chest. It was hard to swallow around the humiliating lump in her throat. No matter what his pretty words meant, he was turning her down. Pushing her away. And despite the chill of knowing that, her body still burned for him. And that only made the sting of rejection worse.

  Ceana cleared her throat. “Then I’d best return to my tent.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because you don’t want me.” She hated the way her voice quivered.

  “That’s not what I said, lass. I said let us not rush headlong into making love when it is fueled by fear. I’d not have you regret tomorrow that you shared yourself with me tonight.”

  “I’d never…” She felt her voice grow tight.

  “You would. But if its safety you seek, I can promise that.”

  Macrath rolled to the side and tucked her against him, one arm protectively draped over her waist and the other beneath her head. She hated the way she felt so safe cuddled in his arms.

  She stared out into the void; emotions conflicted between embarrassment, relief and comfort. As much as she regretted admitting it, he was right. They’d known each other only a couple of days and her fear, the rush of battle and exhilaration of living had clouded her judgment. He’d saved her today. But that didn’t mean she needed to make love to him—even if her body craved his touch.

  His arousal pressed against her bottom sending tremors of need pulsing through her. Despite the rational logic that ruled them both at the moment, it was obvious Macrath still wanted to fulfill their physical cravings just as much as she did.

  And as greatly as she wanted to lie here beside him, to drink in his warmth and protection, if they were to stick with their convictions, she would need to return to her tent.

  “I thank you,” she said, lifting his arm away. She rolled up to her knees and turned to face him, finding his cheek with her palm. She leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips. “I wish you luck tomorrow, warrior.”

  “I cannot let you leave here alone. I will take you back,” Macrath said.

  Disappointment spread through her like the wind to a flame. Secretly, she’d hoped he would forget honor, throw caution to the wind and ravish her upon the floor.

  “No need,” Ceana said curtly not wanting him to offer her protection after his show of restraint.

  He sat up, slid his hand behind her head and pulled her in for another kiss. “I insist. You mean something to me, Ceana, and I intend to see you make it through these games alive. With me.”

  She tried to ignore everything he’d said and all the implications that went along with it. Was Macrath essentially saying he wanted her to rule beside him?

  “You owe me nothing, Macrath. Do not make promises neither one of us can keep.”

  Macrath stood and tugged her up. She waited for him to dress, glad he’d not responded to her so she didn’t have to say anything more.

  The return trip to her tent was easier than her arrival. Partly because Ceana knew the lay of the land, and also because the guards upon the gate appeared to be in transition while the ones in the center lane were now extremely involved in a game of cards she was certain the council would not approve of.

  Macrath’s hand rested on the small of her back, and then his fingers entwined with hers. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine they were at some far off castle, running through a garden maze with no worries in the world.

  But his sudden stop, and her running smack into his back, was a reminder of exactly where they were. She opened her eyes and saw her tent a few feet ahead. “That one is mine,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Macrath glanced over his shoulders, the moon catching in his eyes.

  Even filled with fear, her heart skipped a beat. He was watching me, too.

  Zounds, but she was so confused. Her mind whirled in a hundred different directions and she couldn’t seem to get a good enough grip on what to believe and what to thrust aside as fantasy.

  “Sleep well, lass.”

  Ceana squeezed his hand, wanted to lean up and kiss him, but doing so was wrong on many fronts—especially because when they kissed the world disappeared and they were more likely to be discovered.

  She slipped toward her tent and when she turned around, Macrath was gone.

  *

  The following morning, Ceana woke to the sound of horns blaring through the tents. And a headache that raged from temple to temple. Her muscles screamed with tension. Sitting up, she leaned all the way forward, reaching to her toes, stretching the muscles in her back and legs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this sore. How would she be able to run again today?

  Everything that had happened over the past several days came rushing back with potent clarity. Death, terror, desire.

  Whipping back her blanket she stood and reached her hands to the low-ceiling of her tent, her fingertips brushing the fabric. She rolled her neck. Water. She needed it badly. Her mouth was as dry as dirt.

  Well, the only way to survive was not to dwell on the past. She had to start every day fresh and learn from her past mistakes. Like the huge one she’d made last night. Ceana pulled back the flap of her tent and stepped outside. A cool breeze lightly blew, and the pink-hued wakening sky was covered in light clouds, as though threatening a st
orm by the end of the day.

  Her path to victory was obvious. The only part that wasn’t clear-cut was Macrath and how he played into her life. On the one hand, he made mention of them bonding together for the duration of the games, but in the same breath, told her he couldn’t make love to her.

  Now granted, he didn’t say he wouldn’t ever make love to her.

  She rolled her eyes at the sky and decided not to think a moment longer on the warrior, even if he made her heart pound. It was a lot easier to dwell on her sore muscles and aching head.

  Outside, women were emerging from their tents, many of them looking just as bad off as her. There were also an equal number of women who seemed in good spirits as though instead of running and fighting for their lives the day before, they’d simply rested while servants fed them fruit and nuts. Without speaking to anyone, she grabbed her bucket and made her way to the water barrels, prepared to drink and then fill the bucket with water to wash her body.

  A light mist brushed her cheeks, and the morning dew clung to the sparse grass. Mud sunk, squishy and thick, between her toes. She’d forgotten that she’d removed her boots the night before. From the stench that had seemed to grow overnight with the press of so many bodies between tents, she was certain there was more than a little dew mixed with the wet earth that she trod upon.

  Ceana picked up her pace, intent on getting to the barrels quickly.

  When she arrived, the line was twenty people deep. She hopped from foot to foot, intensely aware that in addition to her boots, she’d forgotten to relieve herself. The lack of forethought was disturbing. Her mind had not been in such shambles since…ever.

  Even the death of family members and threats from marauders didn’t put her off her common sense this much.

  It was all the hulking warrior’s fault.

  The way he made her feel.

  The risks she’d taken in order to feel his hands and lips upon her.