Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  And this time there could be no mistaking that a tall, cloaked man stood in the middle of the strange, otherworldly light.

  Regrettably, no one else on the ship seemed to see him.

  Bors and Troll knew in their hearts that he was there.

  Yet when they exchanged worried glances and then looked to the coast again, the man and the eerie light around him were gone.

  But they knew what they’d seen.

  And with all the saga-telling of their homeland, they knew they were doomed.

  “By all that’s holy!” Alasdair slewed his horse around, reining sharply when a flooded burn loomed before them out of the rain and mist. The rock-strewn cataracts roared, the splashing torrent sending up fans of spray to rival the wind-driven fog. “Ne’er have I seen a more godforsaken place.” He twisted round to frown at Marjory. “Is there naught hereabouts but stone and water?”

  “This is the Thunder Vale, named for Thor.” Marjory spoke as coolly and calmly as she could, trying to ignore how the wind whipped her hair, tossing the wet strands across her face. “Some say it’s called so because of the noise of the rapids. They often overrun their banks.”

  “Indeed.” Leaping down, Alasdair reached for her, sweeping her off his horse. “We’ll have to circle back.” He set her on her feet, his face darker than the stormy night. “I won’t send the horses through such raging water. Nor will I carry you across. Either way, you could be swept off to drown.”

  “We could all be hurt, at the least.” Marjory lifted her chin, no longer trying to ignore her windblown hair, but how her skin tingled from where he’d grasped her waist. She glanced at the foaming burn, her emotions in equal turmoil. “The Thunder Vale knows no mercy. I could’ve told you-”

  “Why didn’t you?” Alasdair’s face darkened even more, a muscle now jerking in his jaw. “I wouldn’t take a horse across such a devil’s cauldron in the best of weathers.”

  “We could try.” Ewan rode over to them, managing to look amused despite his rumpled plaid and wet, dripping hair. He glanced at Marjory, grinning boyishly. “First man to reach the other side wins a kiss from the lady!” He leaned down, punched Alasdair’s shoulder. “What say you?”

  “That your wits have flown,” Alasdair snarled, reaching for Marjory’s arm when she stepped away. He pulled her close to his side, glared at his young cousin. “Since when does a bit of wind and rain turn you into a buffoon?”

  “That wouldn’t be me.” Ewan’s grin flashed even brighter. The merriment in his eyes made the accusation he didn’t put in words.

  “You’ll not argue over me.” Marjory straightened to her full height, standing tall even if she couldn’t break free of Alasdair’s iron grasp.

  “Och, lady, we’re aye fighting o’er you.” Ewan turned his full charm on her, his eyes twinkling. “My cousin willnae say it is so, but you’ve only to ask the men and-”

  “Have a care, lad.” Alasdair’s tone hardened. “You dinnae want to rile me.”

  “No need.” Ewan laughed, unconcerned. Swinging down from his saddle, he stood before them. “You’ve been in a black mood since we left the clearing. We all know why.” Ewan shoved back his wet hair, threw a glance at the other men, the rapids behind them. “Mayhap a good dousing in thon burn would chase the meanness from you? Then you’d admit-”

  “I admit I should’ve ordered you to stay at Blackshore and clean the cesspit.” Alasdair’s arm was rock-hard against Marjory’s back, his hand flexing against her hip. “You’re a gangling, ill-mannered-”

  “Me?” Ewan staggered backward, clutching his heart, his eyes wide with mock astonishment. “The lady might say it differently.”

  “Indeed.” Marjory smiled and then bit her tongue, not wanting to laugh.

  She liked Ewan.

  How she wished Alasdair had a bit of the younger man’s levity. Instead, his face had gone stonier than ever. And his arm about her waist now felt like a tight, steel band. The heat of his powerfully muscled body warmed her through the wool of his rain-splattered plaid. She also felt his surging anger, his each agitated breath. Awareness shot through her each time his chest expanded, bringing their bodies even closer.

  She shivered, deliciously.

  He released her at once, striding away as if she’d bitten him. “Lady Marjory is cold.” He went to the herring cart, lifted the oiled sheepskin rigged to keep out rain. His dog, Geordie appeared at the rail, rheumy eyes eager, as if looking for a treat. “Ewan, the rest of you” - he dug in a leather pouch at his belt, fished out a twist of dried meat for the dog - “take off your plaids and pile them in the cart,” he ordered, already unclasping the heavy Celtic pin that held his own plaid at his shoulder. “Once we’ve made the lady comfortable and warm, we’ll head back the way we came. Then-”

  “This is the most direct way to Nought.” Marjory felt a spurt of confidence, pride in her home’s savage fierceness. It was also time to play her final option.

  The reason she’d held her tongue when Alasdair and his men turned into the Thunder Vale.

  Her womanly wiles had failed her so far.

  Seduction wasn’t her best talent.

  But Nought was magnificent, triumphant in all ways, never letting her down.

  She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and sent a silent prayer to the ancient gods of stone, wind, and wild weather.

  Then she cleared her throat, looked straight into Alasdair’s eyes, and pointed to the great granite peaks guarding the rock-bound vale.

  “We can shelter up there, in the Thunder Caves,” she said, taking some pleasure Alasdair’s startled expression. “There’s no need to disturb your dog. Or” – she smiled at his men – “for anyone to give up his plaid. Everything we need is in the caves.”

  “The Thunder Caves?” Alasdair stared at her.

  “So we call them.” Marjory smiled, pride in her voice. “Like the vale, the name hails from Thor. It’s appropriate because of the storms known to rage here, the thunder of the rapids, and the rumbling of stone when a rockslide hits now and again.

  “Our men use the caves as lookout hideaways.” She felt a blush coming on, didn’t care. “That’s how Kendrew knew you were riding to Nought the day we met. His scouts spotted your party from the Thunder Caves.”

  Alasdair frowned. “I ne’er heard of them.”

  Marjory shrugged. “Nought has many secrets, my lord.”

  Ewan slapped his thigh, laughing. “Ho! Leave it to the Mackintoshes to pull one o’er on us.”

  The other men joined him, chuckling as they refastened brooch pins and adjusted the near-waterproof folds of their heavy woolen plaids.

  Only Alasdair crossed his arms, standing still as stone in the spitting rain. His gaze was on the cliffs, his expression unreadable.

  “I see no caves up there.” He lifted a hand to his brow, narrowed his eyes. “Nor can I make out a path up to them, if they’re there.”

  “Oh, they’re there.” Marjory went over to him, her heart beating hard at her daring. “You can’t see them because they’re so well hidden. Look there…” She pointed to an odd-shaped cluster of rocks at the base of the nearest cliff. “Do you see the rowan growing from the side of that outcrop? The tree marks the start of the path to the caves.”

  “How many are there?” He was looking at her, not the outcrop and its rowan.

  “More than anyone can say.” Marjory could hardly speak anyway. Alasdair’s tantalizing male scent, combined with the heady smell of rain and fresh, cold air, was getting to her. The look in his eyes unsettled her even more. He still appeared tense, but in a different way from during the ride from the clearing.

  Truth was, his expression excited her.

  Something shifted when she mentioned the caves. His gaze was fierce now, his entire focus on her. As if the wind and rain, his men, the caves, nothing else, existed except the two of them.

  And that could only mean one thing.

  The old gods had heard her. Nought was giving
her the chance she needed.

  “Your people don’t know how many caves are up there?” Alasdair was looking at the cliffs now. But he’d put his hand on the small of her back, his fingers splayed, the touch possessive. Bold and claiming, and doing the sweetest things to the lowest part of her belly.

  Her heart.

  Marjory swallowed. “Nought is mysterious, see you?” She glanced at him, finding him looking right at her again, his gaze so intent, her breath caught. “The caves have been counted many times and always a different number is given. Most are small with room enough for one or two men to comfortably spend a night of guard duty.

  “One” – her pulse quickened when he curled his fingers around her hip, his thumb rubbing slow circles as she spoke – “is larger than the rest. It’s the highest cave ever found and is mostly used for storage. Provender is kept there, also dry plaids and piles of wolf and bear skins for bedding. Kendrew sends someone there every fortnight to make sure the cave is clean, the floors well swept. He-”

  “He shall receive my thanks – someday!” Alasdair leaned close and lowered his voice. “We shall seek shelter there now, my lady. We have unfinished business to attend. Something that’s been a long time in coming and that” – he straightened – “can wait no longer.”

  Marjory’s heart leapt.

  But he couldn’t mean what she thought.

  “There is room enough for us all in the large cave.” She glanced at the cliffs, not wanting to see his face is she was wrong. “The path winds back and forth up to the caves. High rock walls hide the ascent and overhanging ledges block the wind and rain. It’s an easy climb, even Geordie can make it. Or someone can carry him-”

  “My dog and my men will use the lower caves.” Alasdair gripped her chin, turning her face so she had to look at him. “You and I will go up to the high one.”

  For a moment, Marjory couldn’t speak. Her mouth went dry and her heart knocked against her ribs. Her hopes and desires came winging back to her.

  “Your men won’t mind?” She glanced at them, not surprised to see that most of them were busying themselves with something. A few fussed with their plaids. Two were refastening the oil-cloth on Geordie’s cart. And another appeared to be removing a pebble from his shoe.

  She looked again at Alasdair, her knees already weakening. “There are so many of them. Will they not-”

  “They are well trained.” He aimed a dark look at Ewan who was leaning against the herring cart, watching them with amusement. “Even those who aren’t will no’ speak of this night. They are loyal.”

  “And you?” She had to know.

  He pulled her closer, his gaze locking on hers. “That I am, aye. I’m also a man. And you, sweet,” - he skimmed his thumb over her lips - “are about to find out why I warned you in the wood.”

  “Why you warned me?” She blinked, not remembering.

  It was impossible to think with him so near.

  He stepped back and extended his arm. The look on his face showed that he wasn’t asking her to take it. He expected her to, without question. When she did, his smile flashed.

  * * *

  “I said you’d regret coming to the clearing.” He was already leading her toward the outcrop with the rowan, the start of the path to the Thunder Caves. “You’re about to find out why.”

  “Then I am most curious.” Marjory quickened her steps to keep pace with him. She already knew what he meant.

  He thought to seduce her.

  She pushed back her hair, stifling the smile she didn’t want him to see.

  It finally was a night for seduction, hers and his.

  She couldn’t have planned it better.

  Chapter 15

  “It’s like the world drops away, isn’t it?”

  Marjory paused on the cliff’s zigzagging path. Pride beat through her, but also a bit of trepidation. Never had a man sought to seduce her and her last attempt to entice Alasdair had ended in disaster. So she kept her back straight and turned to peer through a hand-chiseled spy hole in the soaring rock wall that kept the cave path from being too treacherous to climb. She breathed deep of the cold air racing past the opening and then glanced at Alasdair. He stood a few steps behind her on the narrow, tunnel-like track.

  “Look, you can see straight down to the burn where we left the horses.” She spoke as brightly as she could, not wanting him to guess how vulnerable she felt.

  Or how embarrassed she’d be if she’d read him wrongly.

  He had changed since she’d mentioned the Thunder Caves.

  She just hoped she hadn’t erred in her assessment of his tenseness, his taut expression. And – she felt almost lightheaded with excitement – the way he kept touching her, standing near or even pulling her close against his big, strong body.

  He was looking at her fiercely now. He’d stopped in the middle of the rocky path, his intent gaze holding hers as she watched him.

  Faith, his eyes burned so hotly, she wouldn’t be surprised if the clothes melted from her.

  “I ken where we left the horses.” He didn’t move, but seemed somehow closer, the air almost crackling. “They’ll be fine. I dinnae need to peer down at the beasties.”

  “There’s a ledge off the cliff, a jutting overhang not far from the burn. They’ll find it and be sheltered well enough.” Marjory scarce heard her own words. Blood roared in her ears and her mind whirled. Now that the seduction, if it indeed happened, was so near, she didn’t know what to do.

  Something told her Alasdair would take charge.

  It was a thought that both thrilled and terrified her.

  She needed these last few moments to build her courage. So she gripped the edge of the spy hole, glad for the stone’s support.

  Stepping closer to the opening, she pretended to admire the view.

  “Come see.” She didn’t look at Alasdair. “If you lean out a bit, the whole of the Thunder Vale opens up before you.” She waited for him to join her, her heart fluttering when he slid his arm around her, pulling her tight against him. She took a breath, her excitement mounting. “On fair days, we can see clear to-”

  “Sweet lass, all I wish to see is here beside me.” He smoothed back her hair, letting his fingers drift down the side of her neck. “Though I’ll own there remains much I wish to discover.”

  His voice was deep and low, so husky that a cascade of sinuous heat slid through her.

  He dipped his head, nuzzling the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. Marjory inhaled sharply, the rocky path seeming to tilt under her feet.

  “Aye, there is much I wish you to show me.” He flicked his tongue across her skin, dropped kisses along her shoulder. Straightening, he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, his gaze holding hers. “Beautiful, enticing treasures to be savored and cherished.”

  “The Thunder Caves are a treasure.” She took his hand and led him away, around the last bend of the path to where a solid wall of granite appeared to end the track. “Tucked around here is the entrance.” She pulled him past a tall, angled edge of rock, beaming at his astonishment. “Now you see why we are so proud-”

  “Your caves aren’t what I meant.” Even so, he stopped and stared.

  Marjory was sure his jaw would’ve slipped if he weren’t so stubborn.

  The Thunder Caves were awe-inspiring.

  Pride of Clan Mackintosh, the largest and loftiest of the caves was a broad, high-ceilinged wonder of glistening stone kissed by the ever-present roar of wind. Better yet, even on the darkest nights, slanting cracks in the domed roof allowed shafts of silvery moon-and-starlight to fill the cave’s huge central chamber. The angle of the crevices kept out the worst of any rain.

  “There is magic here.” Marjory stepped closer to Alasdair, touching his arm. “My grandmother used to say the moonbeams are trapped fairies, pursued by princes of star-shine. My grandfather would then laugh and claim…” She stopped, pressing a hand to her lips as hot color flooded her cheeks.

  “Aye?�
�� Alasdair looked at her, one brow lifted. “What did he say?”

  “That…” She glanced away, looking quickly into the cave’s silver-shot depths. “Ach, well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. He liked to tease that the gods called down the moon- and starlight to distract clan women so we wouldn’t see the cave’s true purpose.”

  “And what is that?” Alasdair crossed his arms, his lips twitching. “Did your ancestors sacrifice virgins here?”

  “Not exactly, but…”

  She took his elbow, pulling him to the far side of the cave’s entrance where a low, naturally-formed bench ran the length of one wall. She stopped before an iron-bound chest covered with a sheepskin. Opening its lid, she retrieved candles, steel, and flint. She handed them to Alasdair, smiling apologetically.

  “I’m not good at lighting fires. But if you can get these candles to burn, there are brackets in the walls.”

  “Now you are the teasing one,” he countered, quickly doing as she bid. “Or did you truly no’ guess why I went so quiet on the ride from the clearing? You are well-skilled at lighting fires, a true seductress. You make me burn, lass, you have aye-”

  His jaw dropped. His hand stilling as he set the first candle in its iron holder and the flame illuminated the cave wall.

  The gleaming stone was carved with ancient runic symbols. Norse runes, by the looks of them. More notable were the bold drawings etched near the cave’s sloping roof. Naked men and women cavorted everywhere, forming a lascivious circle of men and women coupling in a great variety of positions. The carnal scenes were painted red and black, each carving stark, vivid, and shocking.

  Alasdair’s brows rose. Then he started laughing. “So that’s what your grandfather meant. I vow he was right!”

  “I have always believed so. He never said.” Marjory’s face flamed hotter. “I do know Kendrew refuses to allow watchmen to use this cave. He says the drawings would keep them from their duty.”

  “Spying on MacDonalds?” Alasdair sounded more amused than concerned.