Whirling about, she saw Groat sauntering toward her, a lecherous sneer on his blond-bearded face. He was also buckling on his sword belt, having just stepped out from one of the bowers.
Ignoring his jeers, Marjory held out her hand when he reached her, her tone icy as she could make it. “I’ll have the scroll you owe me.”
“Perhaps I’ll have something else in exchange for it?” His gaze dipped to her breasts, his one good eye glittering. “Thon wench” – he jerked his head at the tent he’d just left – “wasn’t near as fetching as you.”
“Touch me and I’ll dirk you where it hurts most.” Marjory whipped her lady’s dagger from a fold in her skirts, aiming its tip at the bulge beneath his low-slung sword belt. “I’ve already considered doing the like, so you’d best not tempt me.”
“Oh-ho!” He grinned, but held up his hands and stepped back, away from the pointy end of her knife. “A shame you’ll not be wedding my overlord. He likes his women with fire in their veins.”
“I don’t care what he likes.” Marjory didn’t lower her blade. “I will have my brother’s letter.”
“O-o-oh, Lord Thorkill would fancy you, he would.” Groat pulled on his gold earring, eyeing her up and down. “So would many of us.”
A big man, he had a shaggy mane of straw-colored hair and wore a sleeveless calfskin jerkin over a soiled tunic and loose trousers. His boots were old and muddied, and in addition to his sword, a Viking war axe hung from a belt slung over his shoulders. If he wished, he could knock the dagger from her hand with a puff of breath.
As if he guessed her thoughts, he stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles.
“See here, Lady Marjory, I’m not looking for trouble.” The smile left his face and he shook his head sadly. “Time was, I’d toss you over my shoulder and have you, your ring, and the coin you’ve already given me.
“As is” – he shrugged – “without both eyes, I’m only good for rowing oars and carrying messages. That’s no work for a fighting man. So I pad my wages in other ways. Soon, I’ll have enough land and wealth to settle down and keep my peace.”
Marjory arched a brow. “Thanks to my monies and my sapphire ring.”
He didn’t turn a hair. “Yours, and such payment from others like you.”
“Surely you know I have little choice.”
“We all have choices. I’m not condemning you for yours, so don’t rumple your nose at mine.” An amused grin spread over his face. “Some would say your actions are as crooked as mine. You’re tricking your brother, are you not? He desires a good marriage for you.”
Marjory glared at him. “I see it otherwise.”
He shrugged. “That’s not my concern. Your ring is. You did bring it?”
“You’ll have it after you give me my brother’s letter.” Marjory thrust her dagger back into its sheath and held out her hand again.
Groat sighed heavily. “Mayhap Thorkill wouldn’t have been so pleased with you. You’re too prickly to make a good wife.”
“The scroll.” Marjory wriggled her fingers.
The Viking fished inside his jerkin, producing a scrunched parchment. The red glob of wax that had been Kendrew’s seal was broken. Marjory took the scroll and unrolled it, relief flooding her as she recognized her brother’s boldly inked script.
Groat nodded as she re-rolled the missive. “See you, I keep my word.”
“If that were so, we wouldn’t be standing here. You were to give my brother’s letter to Lady Isobel when you left Nought with my payment in coin. Instead you demanded my ring.” Marjory narrowed her eyes at him. “I’d say your word is only as good as your greed.”
He had the nerve to grin. “A sharp tongue, too, eh?” His gaze turned shrewd, dipping to the small leather purse at her belt. “The sooner you hand over the ring, the sooner I’m away. I’ll see that Thorkill believes what you penned. That his offer arrived too late and you’re already wed to another.”
Marjory flushed, her deceit, however necessary, embarrassing her.
Setting her lips in a hard, tight line that would’ve made her brother proud, she untied her purse strings and thrust Kendrew’s letter inside. She’d burn it as soon as opportunity arose. That decided, she retrieved her sapphire ring and placed it in Groat’s outstretched hand.
He stashed it away with lightning speed. “A pleasure doing business with you, my lady. If ever you need my services again-”
“I need you gone.” Marjory bristled.
He laughed and bowed low. “As you wish.”
When he straightened, he sauntered into the trees without a backward glance. Marjory stared after him until he disappeared into the gloom. She shuddered as the shadows claimed him, wishing she could scrub his taint from her skin.
Her meeting with him left a nasty taste in her mouth.
But as far as she knew, his overlord had been the last Norse noblemen on her brother’s list of possible husbands. Ridding herself of Thorkill’s acceptance of her as a bride was worth sacrificing her ring and coming to the other ladies’ bowers to meet Groat.
Still…
Her heart raced, her palms were damp, and her mouth had gone dry. She could still hear Groat’s mocking words ringing in her ears, see the amusement on his bold, battle-scarred face.
Praise be, he was gone.
She’d be away herself as soon as she regained her composure.
Hoping no one at the tents had seen her, she cast a glance that way, her heart plummeting to her toes when she spied Alasdair ducking out of the tent flap of the largest, most gaudily decorated bower.
A half-naked woman stood in the tent’s shadows, beaming after him.
Eyes rounding, Marjory gasped.
She took a fast step backward and lost her balance, slipping on the pine needles as she tried to nip behind the sheltering trees. She didn’t fall, but she did bump against low-hanging branches, dislodging a large, fat spider that dropped onto her shoulder.
“Agh!” She jumped, brushing at the spider.
It darted into her bodice.
She flung her shawl to the ground and tore at her gown’s laces. The spider sped across her bosom, beneath the top edge of her gown.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Alasdair striding across the clearing, coming right at her. He carried a huge sword and looked furious.
She didn’t care.
She did brush more frantically at her clothes, her efforts rewarded when the spider leaped to the ground, scurrying under the pine needles.
“Mercy!” She pressed a hand to her breast, heaved a great, shuddering sigh.
Her knees felt wobbling and she almost staggered. Her breath came ragged and her hair was mussed, her bodice loosened, the ties dangling.
Alasdair was almost upon her.
She turned away, fumbling at her gown, trying to right the laces. Before she could, Alasdair reached her. He stepped round to loom over her, tall and dangerously close. Even in the shadows, she could see his anger, the tight set of his jaw and the blaze in his eyes.
“Lady Norn.” He spoke her name as if it pained him. Then, not taking his gaze off hers, he rammed the sword he carried so hard into the earth that its blade quivered. He looked her up and down, his expression fierce as he noted her dishevelment. “What’s happened to you?”
Marjory bristled, not liking the suspicion in his voice. “A spider fell on me and-”
“That’s why your hair is mussed and your gown opened?” He didn’t believe her, doubt all over him. “I wouldn’t have thought you so afraid of a wee spider-”
“It was huge.”
“Och, aye, he unlaced your bodice.”
“No, I did.” Marjory began retying the laces. “And my gown isn’t undone, only a bit loose.”
Alasdair leaned in, giving her a hard stare. “I can see your nipples.”
“I don’t believe you.” She knew it was true. Heat swept up her neck, bursting onto her cheeks as she worked faster to close her bodice.
<
br /> “Damn and blast, Norn, I saw a man leaving here.” Alasdair spoke through clenched jaws. “He came from this direction and he looked most pleased.”
“I saw no one.” Marjory held his gaze, unblinking.
He gripped her arm, his hold like iron. “What were you doing here?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” She jerked free, her own temper rising. “I was searching for someone.”
She shot a glance at the colorful bowers, looking back at Alasdair when a peal of feminine laughter drifted from one of the tents.
“You haven’t said why you’re here. But that’s easy enough to guess.” She smiled sweetly.
“Dinnae rile me, lass.” He took a step closer, his tone low. “If there’s aught here I’d want, it isn’t in thon ladies’ bowers.”
Marjory swallowed, her heart starting to beat faster.
Alasdair rested a hand on the hilt of the sword he’d plunged into the ground. His own blade, Mist-Chaser, was sheathed at his side. And he was gripping the second sword so hard that his knuckles shown white.
“This” – he glanced at the sword – “is Honor, my lady. A brand that holds much meaning to my clan as she belonged to the last MacDonald to fall at the trial by combat. Honor’s value to us is immeasurable. Whenever we ride out, one of us carries her in respect of our fallen clansman and the others we lost that day.
“On this foray, the warrior carrying Honor forgot her when he visited one of the ladies here at the bowers.” He paused, glancing at the tents. “I came to fetch the sword, wanting to give her the honor of being retrieved by her chief. Nor did I trust my kinsman to no’ dally if he returned. He’s a man who cannae resist temptation.”
“And you can?” She could see him enjoying a dalliance, as he called such matters.
It shouldn’t bother her if he had, but unreasonably, it did.
“I’m a man, Norn.” His voice took on a disturbingly smooth, smoky quality. “No man can withstand all temptation all the time. No’ if red blood courses in his veins.”
He touched her hair, his fingers skimming the side of her face as he did so. “Sometimes the will to resist isn’t as strong as the need. Did you no’ ken that? You could tempt a man that way, making him forget reason.”
Marjory lifted a brow. “How?”
“You only have to breathe.” A muscle jerked in his jaw and his eyes went dark, smoldering like a deep blue sea caught fire. She thought she heard him swear – she wasn’t sure – but the look on his face did strange things to her.
“Och, lass…” He shook his head slowly, his gaze not leaving hers.
He lifted her braid, ran his knuckles down the side of her neck. Her skin prickled, deliciously. Sensation raced through her, her breasts tightening. She felt light-headed, breathless. His big, powerfully muscled body blocked the tents and even the nearby pines from view, casting them in their own seductive world.
She wanted to reach for him, touch his face, his hair. But her hand wouldn’t move, her arm remaining motionless.
She could only stare at him, awareness beating inside her.
He looked fierce, intense in a way that made her body heat and her blood race. Her senses reeled, her earlier anger swept away by need. His caress, the portent behind his words, scorched the air around them.
“Alasdair…” His name was all she could say. She began to tingle again, there where she always did when she thought about him kissing her.
She should be shamed by such wayward yearnings.
She felt excited.
“Please…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted, perhaps for his hand to stay on her neck. His touch gave her such pleasurable shivers.
He looked anything but pleased. Heat still simmered in his eyes. But it was different and darker now, infinitely more dangerous.
Behind him, someone must’ve lit torches in the clearing. The flickering light edged his outline, emphasizing his strong, broad shoulders. How the wind lifted his hair, making her ache to touch the rich auburn strands. She loved his hair, but just now…
She wished he’d smile.
Above all, she wanted him to bend his head and kiss her. Yearnings stirred inside her, making her bold. And frustrated because his face had gone so stony, so cold.
“I should be away...” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Not now, not ever.
This was her chance.
Perhaps her only opportunity to seduce him.
She took a deep breath, began relacing her bodice. Slowly this time. Isobel and Catriona had told her men go wild when a woman touches her breasts. So she willed him to be tempted, to fall for her seduction now, so long as her courage held.
“Norn…” He took a step closer, so near she could almost hear the hard beating of his heart. Warmth streamed off him, heady and enticing. But he still looked so angry, more annoyed than desirous.
“Let me help you, lass. You’ll ne’er be done that way.” He gripped her wrists, lowering her arms and refastening her gown with a speed and skill that proved how well he understood the workings of ladies’ bodices.
Marjory stiffened, her seduction plans evaporating. “You shouldn’t-”
“That I know, sweet.” He reached for her, pulling her roughly against him. “A shame I cannae help myself.”
He slanted his mouth over hers, almost crushing her lips. He thrust his hands into her hair, bracketing her face, gripping hard as if he’d never let her go. She leaned into him, sliding her arms up and around his shoulders, clinging to him as he kissed her deeply.
It was like no kiss she’d imagined.
Tantalizing sensations rushed through her, especially when he urged her lips apart and swept his tongue into her mouth, exploring her in a bold, sinuous melding of heat and breath that left her trembling. She twined her fingers in his hair, her knees weakening.
Little more than his plaid and her gown separated them. He kissed her with a fierceness that unleashed all her desires, fanning a delicious heat low in her belly. From somewhere, she heard a ragged gasp and hoped it wasn’t from her.
She feared that it was.
“Alasdair...” She gripped his shoulders, his plaid warm and rough beneath her fingers. Her skin tingled, awareness rippling along her nerves, making her forget everything except being in his arms, his mouth ravishing her, their tongues tangling so deliciously.
It was almost more than she could bear.
She began to tremble, her senses and emotions alive, giddy with pleasure.
“Lass…” He deepened the kiss, pulling her tighter against him so she had no doubt how much he wanted her. She could feel the hard press of him, hot and rigid, straining against her. “See what you do to me.”
Close by, a twig snapped. A loud clearing of someone’s throat followed almost immediately.
Breathing heavily, Alasdair tore his mouth from hers, looking round to glare at a tall, big-bearded man who stood less than a pace away.
“Rory!” Alasdair turned to him, stepping before Marjory to shield her from view. “You were to stay with our men.”
Rory shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. “I couldn’t wait.” His gaze flashed to the sword Alasdair had thrust into the earth. “I had to know you’d found Honor.”
Alasdair nodded once, curtly. “Aye, so I did and no harm has come to her.” He reached behind him, gripping Marjory’s arm, holding her still. “Nor do I wish any hurt to come of what you just witnessed, lest you hope to find yourself missing the tongue that rattled.”
“I saw nothing.” Rory held up both hands. “But…”
Alasdair took a step forward, his head angling as if he didn’t trust what he’d heard. “Aye?”
“There be a party o’ Mackintoshes in the wood, heading this way.” Rory rushed the words, glanced into the gloom of the pines.
Following his gaze, Marjory saw nothing, but she didn’t doubt him.
She did reach for Alasdair, tugging his plaid. “Kendrew will be looking for me.”
“Aye, and so he
should be.” Alasdair turned, his face stony again, the passion gone. “And I should ne’er have touched you. I’ll stay with you until your brother is near. This” – he jerked his head toward the bowers behind them – “is no place for a lady alone.”
Marjory lifted her chin. “You seemed pleased enough to find me here.”
“So I was, aye.” His frown said otherwise. “More pleased than I should’ve been. So I’ll give you warning.” He stepped closer, taking her face between his hands. “Dinnae e’er think to tempt me again. Because if you do, there’ll be no restraining me.
“A kiss” – he released her and stepped back – “will be only the beginning.”
“I shall remember that.” Marjory held his glare, her heart beating wildly.
He’d never know it, but his threat only encouraged her. She’d make sure they did kiss again.
And she’d welcome the consequences.
Chapter 3
A kiss will be only the beginning. Alasdair’s warning to Marjory echoed in his head, images of her accompanying the words each time they returned to plague him. Even here at the farthest edge of his own Blackshore territory, they dogged his every footstep, haunting him.
Nae, she did.
A sennight had passed since their encounter in the wood. Seven full days and nights, yet he could still see her opened bodice slipping off her shoulders, revealing the creamy smoothness of her skin, the lush swells of her breasts.
He also remembered how her braid came undone, her hair tumbling to her waist, her disarray making him crazy.
So stirred, he’d forgotten himself.
Scowling, he shoved a hand through his hair. What devil had made him warn her not to tempt him?
Every man with any sense knew better than to challenge a woman.
A lass with Mackintosh blood was worse than most. The clan’s Berserker ancestry made the men fearless fighters and gave the women a bold, sensual heat that was nigh irresistible. They also had the skill and cunning to put such talent to use.
Norn was a born seductress.
He must’ve lost his mind to have gone anywhere near her.
Above all, he should never have allowed her to slide her hands inside his plaid, her fingers splaying across his chest so that she’d surely felt the hard beating of his heart. Aye sharp-witted, she’ll have known the portent of such furious hammering. That his need for her went beyond the carnal, that he wanted to claim not just her body but her heart and soul.
Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4) Page 5
