Highland Warrior

by McCollum, Heather

  Joshua Sinclair was the largest, deadliest warrior on Orkney, and probably all of Scotland. A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold ran between Kára’s shoulder blades at the memory of the Highlander’s downward strike that fell next to her nine-year-old son, Geir. Why had her brother, Osk, brought him to the village? Joshua could have easily killed him, killed them both. And foolish Langdon and Lamont were left in the dirt. No doubt they would wake with aching heads. Better than dead.

  Her legs churned as she focused on her goal in the gloaming, the small barn that marked the entrance to her den, an earthen house under the thick peat field. The Highlander might find the barn, but he would need help finding her den.

  Slow down so he can catch you. The whisper in her head teased the ache between her legs that had roared to life as his gaze traveled down her body in the tavern. Before Geir had run into the fray, Kára had marveled at the effortless way the Highlander had felled the three would-be horse thieves, even as she gave thanks that he wasn’t using his sword. She’d told the fools to leave his horse alone, but her brother had little self-restraint since their father had been killed last spring.

  Her heart hammered with the run, but also with her hastily drawn plan. Seduction. What did she know of it? Very little. She’d already employed all the advice her friend, Brenna, had given her on attracting a man. Touching his arm, gazing down his body as if he were a honey tart she wished to lick, and touching her tongue to her lip the tiniest bit. And Brenna insisted that men liked to chase.

  Kára breathed in and out through her parted lips as she leaped over the meandering berm that cut through the moorland on its way to the sea. A glance behind her showed that Brenna had been right. Even though he was way back at the village, Kára could see that Joshua Sinclair was following. Brenna would smile her knowing smile when Kára told her later.

  Brenna had pushed Kára to find another man ever since Kára had become a widow nine years ago. And Torben Spence had done everything his foolish mind could come up with to get her to accept his proposal to wed. Even old Asmund was now trying to sway her to accept him. No one seemed to understand that she never would. She’d married once, and it had ended before she could lose herself in love. And yet, she’d mourned. In this uncertain world, she’d be a fool to chance it again.

  Bed the Highlander. Would showing Torben that she wasn’t the type of woman who could be faithful convince him to stop trying to woo her? Perhaps. But that was not why she was going to seduce Joshua Sinclair. Nay, she was going to persuade him to lead her people to victory. And his arms are like warm, thick steel.

  Instead of leaping down into the stone-lined hole that looked like an abandoned well, Kára dodged into the barn. She didn’t have a horse now, but it housed her few sheep and Ninny, her goat, who welcomed her with a long bleat.

  “You had food two hours ago,” she whispered as the sets of expectant eyes turned her way. She ran to the back to leap onto a broken wagon that held a bag of oats and a shock of hay. Grabbing the rope that hung from the loft, she climbed by wrapping her feet in it and pulling herself up and onto the platform above.

  The sound of rapid hoofbeats made her drop into a crouch to spy over the edge. She had jumped down from the loft many times, landing near the door; if she decided to escape instead of… What exactly? Now that her plan was succeeding, she wasn’t quite sure she could go through with seducing a stranger, even if he was the brawniest man she’d ever seen. Even though the look that the Highlander had given her had awakened a yearning she’d long since forgotten. Anxious energy made her hands tremble.

  The door of the barn swung inward. “Dróttning, are ye in here?”

  Dróttning? Old Asmund was calling her a queen because Erik had been taken by Robert’s forces that morn.

  Lord. Poor Erik. He’d made them swear never to risk themselves to save him but to carry on. Maybe Joshua Sinclair could help them rescue him before he could be killed by Robert Stuart.

  Her thoughts twisted into a single focus as the Highlander walked through the barn door. She peered down onto his head, his hair long and wavy, although it was almost impossible to see in the darkness of the barn. It had looked clean in the tavern, and his teeth had been white, indicating that he took care of his body. What did he look like under the furs and wool?

  He stalked around the barn, glancing at her animals, and his eyes stopped on the rope where it swayed from her climb. “’Tis a cozy home ye have,” he said, and she almost snorted. He thought she lived with her animals. When she didn’t answer, he went back to the door and brought his horse inside. Perhaps he thought merely to shelter them both for the night, but the intensity of his eyes as he slid his gaze down her form earlier had spoken that he was game to much more than warmth and sleep.

  Do not be too easily won. Smile as if you know things, but then walk away. They always follow if there is a chase involved. Brenna’s continual prompting surfaced in Kára’s mind. She had ignored her friend’s advice, because there had been absolutely no one about whom she’d want to encourage. That had changed with one casual grin and request to buy her a drink. And the knowledge that she could truly help save her people.

  The Highlander moved about the barn with methodical focus, taking his horse’s saddle off and leading him to the water trough. He gave the majestic creature a couple handfuls of oats from the bag on the wagon and walked back outside. Kára leaned farther over the edge, her ears straining to hear above the whistle of wind through the small holes in the daubed walls. The sound of splashing water made her smile. He’d found the real well. Had he first gone to her doorway realizing there was only stone and earth below?

  The door whipped open as the wind caught it, and the Highlander strode in with his furs in his hands, shutting the door behind him. “Your tracks stop here, lass,” he called. He dropped the furs with his sheathed sword and ran hands down his face as if ridding it of water. His tunic was open, showing he had washed quickly despite the cold. She sucked in a silent breath as he drew it over his head. “I have caught ye,” he said. “That was your challenge.”

  Kára’s gaze traveled along his form, barely visible in the darkness of the barn. Lord help her, she wanted to see him completely bare.

  “Shall I come above?” he asked, batting at the rope to make it swing.

  Bang. Twang. “Fok,” he cursed low as he knocked her pitchfork over, making it hit the stone stool that sat in the corner. “If sleep is all ye have in mind this eve, I will sleep below. I will not hurt ye, lass. I do not rape.”

  Good to know. Kára untied her outer cloak in the darkness, watching his predatory pacing around the corners of the bottom floor. He did not attack women, but he most certainly tupped. His body looked to be made for it. He had probably bedded many women, beguiling, beautiful women. Should she tease and then stop him? Lure him back to her village to finish her seduction?

  Seduction? She almost laughed. She had no idea what to do with him, her half-made plan forming as she went. But one thing was certain—she couldn’t let him leave Orkney now that he wasn’t working for Robert. If there was a chance of wooing him to her side of this war, she must try. And if her bringing him to Hillside as her lover deterred Torben from pursuing her, so much the better.

  She moved silently back to the rope, holding to the top where she could slide down. He stood below in the darkness. There was only enough light from the cracks in the wooden door for her to see his broad bare shoulders directly below her. I will slide down. Then kiss him, coyly tease him, and invite him back to Hillside Village.

  Using the rope, she swung over the edge and down the length, her legs raised to settle over his shoulders. Her heels caught against his chest so she could clench his head with her thighs. “Fortunately for you, Highlander, I do not rape, either,” she said, squeezing.

  Before she could do anything else, he grabbed her hips, the strength in his grip slightly biting as he yanked h
er around. Her heels slid to his upper back, bringing the crux of her legs right before his face. She heard him inhale deeply as if smelling her heat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and his hands dug into the back of her arse, pushing her hips forward against his mouth.

  He exhaled from the back of his throat, forcing hot breath out. The heat penetrated her trousers, straight to the ache between her legs, making her breath catch as a pulse of lustful fire flared up from it. Without thinking, she rocked into him, her legs clenching around his head, and he repeated the fiery exhale.

  Stunned at her immediate response, she loosened her hold to slide her legs down the slope of his back, settling her crossed feet on his arse, her legs wrapped around his thick body. Coming level with his mouth, she kissed him. A carnal, overwhelming heat surged within Kára as his warm lips slid against hers. Holy hell.

  He tugged the end of her braid to free its binding and raked upward through her loosening hair. His fingers slid to her nape and up along her scalp as they pressed bodies and mouths together in the dark. Hunger swelled inside Kára, hunger like she’d never felt before, not even with her husband when they were married. She felt ravenous for this man, as if she were starving, her body breaking and shedding the ice in which she’d encased herself over these lonely years. Her plan to lure him with teasing burned to ash under the pressure of his body against hers.

  Despite the savage way they clung to each other, his kisses did not bruise. She swept her tongue inside his mouth. He growled low, holding her under her arse and letting her slide farther down until her crux met the thickness of his cod through the wrapping over his hips. He tasted of honey mead and smelled of wild wind, raw strength, and clean man. Kára felt hot and lost. Without thought, she ground her pelvis against the largeness of him. It had become instinct, a deep need.

  His lips slid a path along her jaw to her ear. “Ye smell of lust, dróttning.”

  “Kára,” she rasped. “My name is Kára. It means wild.”

  He chuckled softly. “Kára,” he whispered near her ear, the word coming slow as if he savored her name on his tongue, tasting it as if tasting her. She shuddered.

  “Kára, lass, I am going to lick every sweet, hidden part of ye.” He pulled back slightly, and she heard his breath coming hard like hers. “That is, if ye wish it.”

  She shivered, pulling his face back down, his lips hovering less than an inch over her own. “I wish it,” she said, and the foolish plan to lure him back to Hillside faded like the mist. She pressed against his evident arousal. “Stay with me.”

  “Aye, lass,” he said in her ear, pressing her to him. “I will most certainly.”

  Chapter Three

  “Thus the expert in battle moves the enemy,

  and is not moved by him.”

  Sun Tzu – The Art of War

  Kára’s heart hammered, her breathing hard, and she melted back into him with wild abandon, which he met with equal force. She let out a hum at the back of her throat between kisses as his hands stroked up her tunic to the binding around her chest where he yanked it down, releasing her breasts. Her nipples were already hard and sensitive, and she sucked in as his hand came around to cup one globe, pinching the peak and palming the fullness.

  Unhooking her ankles, she dropped down his length until her boots hit the earthen floor. With two steps, he backed her up against the cold wall of the barn, holding her there and yanking her tunic up and over her head. The mountainous outline of the warrior was the only thing she could see in the darkness, but she could definitely feel.

  His large hands stroked over her skin. “Ye are so bloody soft and ripe with curves.”

  Sliding her palms over the muscles of his chest, her fingers scraped down through the fine hair that led toward the edge of the wool wrapped around his hips. What was her plan again? Her hands spanned his mass of masculine strength, unable to think, only to feel. She let her instincts take over.

  Kára bent her face forward, her hot breath branding his skin. He shuddered as she planted wet kisses up his chest, licking over his taut nipple. The fact that she could affect this formidable man made her even more bold.

  When she reached his neck by standing on the toes of her boots, she pushed a hand against his shoulder, shoving him around and back so that he leaned against the wall, trading places with her. His chuckle turned into a low growl as his hand stroked up under her heavy hair to cup her head, pulling her forward to stand between his straddled legs.

  Joshua Sinclair wasn’t some easily bruised lad. He was built large and hard. Was the rest of him the same? Kára slid her hand up his thigh and under his kilt to the raging erection there. Wrapping her fingers around him, she stroked up and down, her mouth going back to his. “Such power,” she said against his lips, slanting to kiss him thoroughly. Her stroke pulled a groan from deep down within his chest, the vibration teasing more sensation through Kára until she trembled with lust. Nothing else mattered but this man in her hands, his strength and heat, and her need for him.

  With a growl, the Highlander spun her around so her back was once again pressed against the wall, the roughness of the layers of flat stone cold on her naked back. His mouth dove down to her breast, covering her nipple as he loved first one and then the other, lapping and palming her breasts until they felt like they were swelling, yearning for the touch of his tongue. A line of heat tightened within her aching body from her nipples down to her core, fanning the fire already burning there. Resting her head back, she let her moan fill the barn. Ninny answered with a bleat, making the Highlander raise his head.

  Kára grabbed his arm. “This is not where I sleep.” Leaving her tunic and his clothes, she led him to the door.

  “Ye will freeze,” he said, stopping her.

  “’Tis not far.” She pushed out into the night, her hand still clasping his. Four steps brought them up to the abandoned well that wasn’t a well but an opening into her cozy den. She’d discovered it years ago, cut down inside the hillside, a dwelling from ancient times. When her son, Geir, had begun to sleep at her brother’s home, leaving her because he felt he was starting to grow into a man, she’d made the hollowed-out earth home into a comfortable nest. Here she was hidden away from the world and the pressures of helping her uncle save her people.

  “Slide down the rope,” she said, letting go of his hand to grab the old well rope. For a moment, she stopped to stare at him in the slight moonlight. His chest and shoulders bare, she saw scrollwork tattooed around his biceps. Toned muscles and absolute strength made her mouth go dry. Could he hear the rapid thud of her heart? What the bloody hell was she doing? Seducing the only man powerful enough to conquer Robert Stuart.

  When his gaze traveled to her breasts propped up by the lowered bindings, she swallowed hard. She couldn’t deny her want of him, but the intensity she felt made him dangerous. Even the cold wind couldn’t squash the flames raging inside her. Her plans had burned up with his touch, so she would have to continue completely on instinct. And her instincts told her that Joshua Sinclair needed to fall in lust with her in order for him to stay on Orkney.

  Taking a deep breath, Kára smiled with what she hoped was a seductive grin. “Come down into my hole, Highlander,” she said, and grabbed the rope to kick her legs over the well’s edge.

  …

  Joshua Sinclair watched the woman lower gracefully down the rope into the dried-up well he’d seen before outside the barn. He never would have guessed that it led anywhere. Maybe she’s a selkie and leading me to a watery death. If he got a chance to taste her further, he didn’t care.

  Grabbing the gently swaying rope, he climbed over the ring of rocks marking the well. Immediately, he felt warmth radiating upward and lowered toward it. Glancing below he saw red cinders. It was a chimney to a hearth. Lined with stones in a broad rectangular form, the tunnel dropped a good twelve feet before opening into a dug-out space. Releasing the rope, he landed with hi
s legs wide, straddling the remains of a fire, the heat funneling right up his kilt. He hopped off to the side, his hand instinctively reaching back for his sword that wasn’t there. Fool. He’d left it above, his lust making him careless. He looked up the well at a rectangular space of night sky.

  “I am here,” the woman called, and he turned to see her lighting an oil lamp. His breath caught at the sight of her, bare breasts perched on the bindings around her ribs, her hair skimming past her shoulders and along her full breasts, where it hung like pale silk that he already knew was soft and fragrant. She unwound the bindings, dropping them so that she was naked down to the edge of her trousers. Hips swaying with natural grace, she walked toward him as she unlaced the front ties of her trousers. Keeping her gaze centered on his face, she stepped around him, teasing him by skimming close without touching him. She crouched before the embers to blow them back to life and added two bricks of peat from a pile that was stacked in a small tower nearby.

  When the peat caught, she stood tall and straight, turning to him, and he fisted his hands to keep from reaching immediately for her. “Welcome to my den,” she said, a half grin turning up one corner of her lush mouth.

  “Are ye Calisto, the woman turned into a bear and living in the stars?” he asked. He inhaled as her gaze dropped to his obvious arousal pushing against his kilt.

  She tipped her head as she met his gaze. “Have no fear. I will not maul you…too much.” Her fingers slid down her stomach into the V made by her open trousers, touching herself.

  The sight, mixed with her playful words, shot another jolt of want through him. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. He felt like he could rip apart anything that stood between them, his need to mate stronger than his need to breathe. His breath came ragged as his gaze roamed the contours of her strong, beautifully unique face.

  Joshua tugged his belt open, and the folds of woven wool dropped to his boots, leaving him bare and hard as the rocks around them. Her eyes widened, but she met his watchful gaze with a small smile. In two strides, he stood before her. As he was about to reel her in, she turned away, bending over. Her shapely arse, still clad in the trousers, lifted into the air, and she untied the fur wrappings and her boots. Och, but he wanted to take her from behind, but then also in a way he could stare into her face as she shattered in bliss. He would tease every little tingle of pleasure out of her.