Cold indifference would slice him deeper than swoons or tears.
She couldn’t abide simpering females and thought even less of those who started weeping at the drop of a pin. So her only recourse was to stand proud until she was sure he was well and truly gone. Then she’d lift her skirts and stride coolly back to the tower.
What she’d do then…
Hopefully after a few hours’ sleep, she’d be able to decide next move.
It was just a shame that her blue silk cloak now held his scent. Each breath brought him back to her, flooding her senses with shockingly vivid images. She was reminded of the hot glide of his hands on her naked flesh, his tongue tangling so provocatively with her own, until each scandalous memory spread ribbons of tingly heat low in her belly.
She should no longer desire him.
Guilt wound within her. He was her family’s most dread foe. This night he’d proved he was worthy of the worst slurs hurled after him.
But when he smiled, his teeth flashing white in his roguish face…
“Damn him.” Isobel felt the air around her hum with her annoyance.
Who would’ve thought need and matters of the heart could be such a plague? A misery that clawed at tender places and made her head ache. Even the cool night air seemed unbearably hot. The back of her neck throbbed, the skin heating as if set afire.
It was all most terrible.
And yet…
When his face had hardened so fiercely and he’d called her a liar, she’d still found him the most shamelessly appealing man she’d ever seen.
She resisted the urge to scowl.
Instead she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She remained still, listening. Her ears caught no sound except wind soughing through the pines, the soft tumbling of a nearby burn, and from farther away, on the other side of Castle Haven, the muffled roar of the falls that spilled down a gorge in one of the higher peaks. Not even the cracking of a twig broke the night quiet.
She was alone.
And now that she was, she wanted nothing more than to return to her bed, pull the covers over her head, and sleep long and dreamlessly.
So determined, she started forward, certain that no day in her life had ever been, at turns, so wildly perfect and perfectly horrid.
“Now you see your folly.” Kendrew’s deep voice came from behind her. He gripped her elbow, preventing escape. “The danger you ignore.”
“Gah!” Isobel jumped.
“How easily I surprised you.” He tightened his fingers on her arm. “Did you ne’er hear that the men of Nought are one with the shadows? Such talk is true.” His tone held pride, his arrogance palpable. “I could have you over my shoulder and gone from here by now if I’d wished.”
“So you are the threat?” She deliberately mistook his meaning.
“There are others with night-walking skills.” He was close, his breath warming her nape, tickling strands of her hair. “But no one does it better than me.”
“I see.” She turned to face him as slowly as she could, dignity demanding she not spin about. She ignored the leaping of her pulse, the fast, uneven beating of her heart. She hadn’t heard a twig snap. He couldn’t be standing right in front of her.
But he was.
And although she wouldn’t have believed it possible, he looked angrier than he had earlier. His brows were down-drawn and a muscle twitched in his jaw. In truth, he appeared almost murderous.
Isobel kept her gaze on his face, trying not to blink. “Should I fear you or those other night-walkers?”
“Any man would be a threat to you, running about as you are.” Eyes narrowing, he flicked a glance over her. “Are you no’ aware that your gown is undone? That a man” – his gaze lingered on her breasts – “loses his wits when faced with such temptation?”
“Is that why you came back?” She glanced down. Her bodice had come open, the laces loose and allowing the edges of her gown to gape wide. The rounds of her breasts were plainly visible, her nipples wholly uncovered. Worse, her nipples were drawn tight and straining against the cold night air, almost as if they sought attention.
“No’ to ogle you, my lady.” He gave her a smile that was anything but warm. “You needed to see how easily you could be taken.”
“No one has ever bothered me until you.” Isobel yanked her bodice together and started fastening the laces. Unfortunately, Kendrew’s steady perusal unnerved her so greatly that her fingers shook and she couldn’t tie the ribbons properly.
She did manage to make two knots.
Her breasts pressed against the taut ribbons, the knots cutting into soft flesh. And – she wanted to sink into the ground – her nipples thrust even more now, pointing straight at Kendrew.
She risked a glance at his face and wasn’t surprised to see his expression had darkened, his gaze still locked onto her breasts’ straining peaks.
“Now see what you have done.” His voice was deep, roughened with desire.
Isobel swallowed, recognizing the tone from the revels. His eyes smoldered, his jaw hard set as he drew a dirk from beneath his belt. Then, without taking his gaze off her bosom, he sliced the knotted ribbons.
“There.” He shoved the dagger back into its sheath and stepped away from her. “You’ll have to hold the gown together until you get back to the tower and reach your quarters. If you dinnae…”
He let the words trail away, not needing to finish.
His meaning burned the air between them. The way his eyes gleamed in the dimness told her everything. It was a look that made her heart beat faster and everything female in her prickle with excitement.
And he knew it.
“You’d best cover yourself.” He sounded pained. “You’ve two good hands, by Thor. Put them o’er your breasts. Now.”
Isobel did. She splayed one hand over her breasts and used the other to clutch the edges of her bodice. But as soon as she touched her fingers to the welling curves, his scowl deepened. Wheeling about, he turned his back to her. Then he ran a hand through his hair and tipped back his head, glaring up at the heavens.
“Begone, Lady Isobel.” He flung out an arm, pointing in the direction of Castle Haven. “This moment, lest I-”
“Do what?” Isobel couldn’t believe her daring as she stepped around him. Ignoring his outthrust arm, she eyed him up and down. “Shall you turn into the Berserker everyone says you are?”
“Have a care, lass.” He shook his head, slowly. “You dinnae want to provoke me.”
She did.
She’d gone too far to retreat. He’d accused her of speaking falsely. She needed to show him that he was a liar, denying their attraction. Challenging him was all that remained to do. This was war and her weapons were…
“Provoke you?” She stepped closer, her pulse quickening as his heady male scent swirled around her. Virile, earthy, and just a bit dangerous, the hints of clean, cold air, woodsmoke, and man, thrilled her. Hopefully her scent, essence of spring violets, would prove as irresistible to him. Her unbound hair and state of dishevelment should also work to her favor, fuddling his wits.
He’d already implied the possibility.
“Perhaps...” She tilted her head, taking advantage. “I would enjoy seeing you go Viking. Or” – she let her gaze flick over him again – “are you not as wild as one hears?”
“You tread dangerously, lady.” A muscle in his jaw jumped, proving it. “‘Go Viking’ is what Norse raiders did when they assaulted our coasts and isles, as well you know, I vow. A Berserker’s rage was nothing of the kind.”
He leaned toward her, his voice a growl. “Their fury was a terrible thing. As is mine, be warned.”
“Oh, I am.” Isobel resisted the urge to lift up on her toes and kiss him.
He was that close.
And his anger was building, his clenched hands white-knuckled now.
“Odin’s balls!” He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her against him, his grip fierce. “You are the most infernal, pestif
erous lady I have ever known!”
Isobel felt a surge of triumph, her entire body coming alive. Her heart hammered, beating crazily in her chest, victory so sweet.
“I would prefer lady of spirit.” She circled her arms around his shoulders, hoping to prove her point. “You, too, should beware. Norse blood also runs in my veins. I am just as fearless as you.”
“Foolish, more like.” He seized her chin and slanted his mouth over hers in a hard, furious kiss. Hot, crushing, and taking the breath from her, it was a kiss full of anger and thrumming, unchained need. And so glorious that a floodtide of exhilaration swept her, especially when he plunged his tongue into her mouth, his taste and the intimacy making her cling to him, demanding more.
She kissed him back with fervor, twining her fingers in his hair and pressing into him. She wanted to drink him in, savor the essence of him. The feel of his large, powerfully-muscled body melded to hers. Her heart almost stopped when he pulled her even closer, so fast against him that her feet left the ground.
“Kendrew…” She floated on a glittering cloud, dizzy. She nipped his lower lip, then curled her tongue around his, teasing, enjoying.
“Enough!” He tore his mouth from hers and stepped back, looking fierce. “Go now, you she-vixen. If you dinnae” – he shoved a hand through his hair, his chest heaving – “I swear I’ll carry you to thon forecourt beneath your tower walls and finish what we started at the revels. And I’ll have you again and again until I’m sated, no’ caring who sees.”
Isobel’s ardor vanished. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His arched brow said he would. “Doubt me at your peril.”
“I would be ruined.” Isobel placed a hand to her breast, covering her gaping bodice. She didn’t miss that, this time, he didn’t lower his gaze.
“You should’ve thought of your good name before you went to Nought.” He towered before her, big and menacing. “For sure, before you came out here, half undressed and with your hair spilling down everywhere.”
He folded his arms, his black scowl daring her to deny it.
She couldn’t.
That truth sent heat washing the length of her. Even the tops of her ears burned. Rarely had she been so mortified. And she had no one to blame but her own scandalous self.
It was a galling admission.
But it gave her the strength to stand tall.
“You are a bastard, Kendrew Mackintosh.” She flipped her hair over one shoulder.
“Nae, I am not.” His voice was tight. “But I am many other things, ‘tis true.”
Isobel’s chin went up. “Then prove that you are a night-walker and disappear again.”
Not waiting, she turned and made straight for the tower’s silver-washed forecourt and the postern gate just beyond. She went as proudly as she could, taking care to keep her head high and her back straight. Above all, she refused to glance over her shoulder.
Something told her that if she did, he’d make good his threat to ravish her beneath the castle walls, in view of all and sundry.
And if she didn’t wish to see blood spill between him and her brother, she’d let him.
As things stood…
She simply stepped through the arched entry into the tower and climbed the winding stair to her bedchamber, not pausing until she bolted the door behind her. Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding and face the worst truth of the night.
If she’d had the sliver of a chance to win Kendrew’s heart, she’d ruined it now.
He not only rejected her for being a lady. He now despised her because she didn’t behave like one.
It was the last turn of events she’d expected.
A new and daunting obstacle that wasn’t at all promising. But she’d think of way to surmount it, just as she always did.
This time would be no different.
She’d make sure of it.
* * *
Deep in the pinewood Isobel just left, a large dark shape waited until she slipped inside Castle Haven and Kendrew’s footfalls faded into the mist. The steps – not-so-noiseless to one such as him – wouldn’t have stirred a mouse. Yet caution was never misplaced. Only when empty silence spread through the cold night air, did the hazy form emerge from the trees to hover at the wood’s edge.
Just as he’d done earlier on his beloved Nought land when the lovely, raven-haired Cameron woman stopped at the Rodan Stone.
She’d seen him then, looking his way and even speaking to him.
Something warmed inside him at the recollection. Something good, even though he knew he couldn’t truly feel such a long-dormant sensation. In memory, he recalled the like very well. And he missed such things, he did.
Once, in distant days so long ago the first dew hadn’t yet kissed the land, his living heart had been filled with honor, loyalty, dedication, and pride. Love, too, though not for a woman as is the way of most red-blooded men. As a dreagan master, he’d had nary a moment for frivolous pursuit. His mortal life had been devoted to duty and the magnificent sweep of jagged cliffs, cold, deep mist, and jumbled boulders he was sworn to protect.
It was a responsibility he’d taken seriously.
And one he’d shouldered gladly.
A weight he bore even now. Though only in spirit, such as things were.
The figure frowned – if the filmy, wraithlike form he crafted with all his not-so-impressive strength could even be called a figure. The shape was the best he could manage, given his circumstances.
At least he could still think, and that was a blessing for which he was most grateful.
Even if his mind-wanderings often caused him pain.
He was.
And that was quite a wonder. The alternative, a dull, black, unthinking void, would be a greater tragedy. Keeping his dark thoughts in rein was definitely the lesser evil to not existing at all.
Now someone else knew of him.
Although…
The fetching Cameron lass didn’t quite have the right of it. Even so, her acknowledgment of him at the Rodan Stone was an event to savor. He just wished her encounter with his kinsman, Kendrew the Wild as he liked to think of the lad, hadn’t run so ill-fated.
Not that he’d watched, of course.
As a man of noble sensibilities, he’d discreetly withdrawn as soon as he’d seen where the two were heading. But one such as he picked up on nuances. Ghosts, insubstantial as they are, detect faint ripples in the atmosphere unnoticed by those still weighted and burdened with mortal bodies. When things went bad between the young pair, he’d felt the night air quiver in distress, then the deep, rolling shockwaves of their angry emotions.
Their upset had buffeted him, making it difficult to keep his wispy form from dispersing. Such was always demoralizing, for he enjoyed drifting about in the same huge, powerfully-built shape he’d once kept hard-muscled and so very well trained. Then, as now, he’d appreciated having bright mail glinting from his broad shoulders, and he’d taken pleasure in lining his arms with fine, gold rings. Such adornments were recognized as signs of a man’s strength and valor. And that wee spot of vanity he’d granted himself, for he’d earned his warrior’s reputation. He’d always had both his long sword and his war ax hanging at his waist, and he wore them still.
Even if no one but he was aware.
A man’s pride never left him, after all.
Nor his need for justice, though suchlike were thoughts best left for another day. At present, he was again concerned for the lovely young Cameron maid who – he was sure – had hung her heart on his gruff and swaggering kinsman. A lad who clearly needed some sense and chivalry knocked into his thick, too-stubborn skull.
To the lad’s credit, he had followed the lass to her home.
Even if he’d largely done so because he wrongly suspected the cravens who’d hidden behind an outcrop at the revels had been James Cameron’s men.
He’d come here, and that counted much.
And as happened so often whenever somet
hing monumental seemed about to occur, Kendrew just had to arrive in the moment when Isobel appeared to have noticed him in the wood beneath her window.
The figure frowned again, and then released a long sigh. For sure, he’d trailed the maid to be certain she reached her part of the glen safely. But he’d also hoped to delve deeper into her seeming ability to sense his presence, even see him. If she could see him, she might be capable of sensing others such as him.
And what a wonder that would be.
But before he could drift over to her tower’s little forecourt, his hot-headed kinsman had burst onto the scene waving her cloak in the air as if he’d never learned the first shade of manners.
The figure shuddered, wishing not for the first time that he could resume physical form just long enough to share a bit of his hard-earned wisdom.
When the last earthly breath is drawn, one finally realizes that life itself was the prize. Each day should be enjoyed to the fullest, and all a man should care about leaving behind is the good of his name.
Kendrew – by the look of matters – needed to learn that truth.
And he had matters of his own to attend.
He couldn’t lose heart. Nor could he allow distractions, for his personal reasons for walking – nae, drifting about the glen – meant a great deal to him and were of such import that he couldn’t dally.
The dreagans were stirring.
He’d heard them this night – in his realm that was possible - praise all the gods.
He’d cross paths with Lady Isobel again soon, he was sure. Indeed, he’d make a point to do so. He could not let things stand as they were.
She’d erred greatly in calling him Rodan. And that mistake needed correcting.
His name was Daire.
And once, back before memory began, he’d been the greatest dreagan master of them all. In his heart, that hadn’t changed. But now he was also something else. And it was a distinction that rode him hard and kept him from peace.
He was the only soul who knew the truth of the dreagan stones.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel: Highland Warriors Book 2 Page 9
