He blinked, but she didn’t go away.
He wasn’t dreaming now.
The brazen minx was real and he’d know her anywhere, even through the mist. No other female would stride so boldly through the chill darkness of the wood. True to her nature, she had a fierce glint in her eye and held her chin tilted with a dash of defiance. Her hair may have been neatly braided when she’d left her own castle walls, but somewhere along the way, the shining tresses had spilled free and now tumbled in wild abandon about her face.
She was magnificent.
And she was definitely Catriona MacDonald.
No doubt making her way to the viewing platforms to blast the Lowlanders with her wicked-eyed stare. She did so every morning, though James was sure he’d never spotted her about quite this early.
That she was here now – at a time when an unknown, dark-cloaked man had been in the wood – proved a damnable complication.
MacDonald or no, she was a woman.
James frowned, his fury rising when he couldn’t help but admire the pert sway of her hips as she marched through the trees.
“Damnation.” He shoved a hand through his hair, glaring at her retreating back.
She was moving fast.
And he had no choice but to step in and keep her from possible harm.
He started forward before annoyance could override his damnable honor. He had better things to do with his morning than chase after the one female who rode his nerves like a bee beneath his collar. But if she fell to peril and he hadn’t stepped in, he’d feel worse. So he quickened his step, not caring if he startled her.
But the closer he came to her, the more the air felt oddly charged. He could almost hear the mist crackling around him. For two pins, he’d swear he wasn’t cutting through the cold morning, but that he’d plunged into a sea of invisible fire. Each swirl of mist sizzled against his skin, almost searing him. His blood heated, roaring through his veins and pounding in his ears.
And still the vixen hurried on, her raised skirts nearly drawn to her knees. Now he not only had a splendid view of her trim ankles, but also her finely-formed calves. When she hopped over a log, lifting those skirts even higher, he saw a great deal more. Enough to darken his mood and send him sprinting forward before she could come across another impediment and taunt him again.
He’d already seen more than was wise of those long, sleek legs.
So he closed the last few paces between them and reached to grab her shoulder. “Catriona Mac-”
“Don’t think to touch me!” She whirled around with a wild toss of hair and skirt, snarling like a she-wolf. He’d never seen a woman move so quickly. The bright flash of steel sheathed at her inner thigh stunned him, as did her quickness to retrieve it. Before he could jump back, she lunged at him, her eyes burning hotly.
Precise as any man, she sliced his outstretched hand. Scalding heat and pain and oozing blood filled his palm. Her blade held high, she danced nimbly just beyond his reach, her furious gaze pinned on him. “Come a step closer and I’ll cut you were it hurts most.”
She shot a glance at the place she meant. “Doubt me at your own peril.”
“Dinnae flatter yourself.” Angered beyond measure, James outmaneuvered her. Catching her wrist, he squeezed hard so the dirk slipped from her fingers. “I’d sooner roll naked in stinging nettles than lay a hand on you.”
“You already are.” She jerked her arm, trying to break free.
“So I am.” He let her struggle. “But you needn’t fear for your virtue. Prickly lasses such as you are no’ to my liking.”
“That’s as well.” She couldn’t have sounded more contemptuous. “Swell-headed, vaunting scoundrels aren’t to mine.”
She continued to fight him, and he countered the jab of her elbows, the kick of her feet. He lost all patience when her knee slammed his thigh. Hauling her roughly against his chest, he scowled at her, taking some small satisfaction in seeing his blood trickling down her arm, staining her skin with her fool deed.
She followed his gaze, her brows snapping together when she saw the blood. “I shall scour myself every night for a fortnight to remove your taint.”
James felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. “To think I thought to save you from folly. Now” – he released her, stepping back to wipe his bloodied palm on his plaid – “I wish I’d let you to your own sorry fate.”
“What happens to me is none of your concern.” She brushed at her skirts, righting them with quick, jerky motions. “You - a Cameron.”
“Aye.” James inclined his head, proudly. “I am the Cameron. And you, lass, needn’t straighten your clothes. The time for modesty has passed. Why conceal what I’ve already seen?”
“Oh!” She glared at him, furious color flashing across her face. “How dare you-”
“I dare much.” James placed a deliberate foot on her fallen dagger. “Truth be told, there are many who would say we are now bound, whatever. You’ve drawn first blood, my lady. Or” - he lifted his hand, casually examining at the deep red cut across his palm – “were you no’ aware of the consequences of such a brazen act?
“Have you ne’er heard that oaths are sworn on blood?” He met her eyes again, challenging. “Sacred vows so irreversible that doom awaits those who break them?”
“Pah!” She flushed brighter, almost trembling in her anger. “You must think I’m witless. Thon cut has naught to do with such pacts. Nothing binds us except years of feuding and the scorn every MacDonald has for Camerons. Though” - she raised her chin, defiant - “I’ll own that if I’d known it was you, I would not have drawn my lady’s dirk.”
“Indeed?” James lifted a brow. “I’m honored.”
“You shouldn’t be.” She put back her shoulders, ever proud. “I wouldn’t have sullied good MacDonald steel with the taint of Cameron blood.”
“And if it’d been your blood spilled?” James could hardly speak for fury. He bent to snatch up her dagger, thrusting it beneath his belt. “What then, eh? Did you not think that someone else might have shown less mercy to a knife-wielding she-cat?”
“Mercy?” She fisted her hands on her hips, a hot-eyed Valkyrie in the swirling gray mist. “I neither ask nor need your mercy. As you saw” - her gaze flicked to his hand – “I can look after myself.”
“And pigs roost in trees.” James stepped closer, towering over her. He pinned her with his fiercest stare, taking full advantage of his formidable height and size. “You have me, and me alone, to thank that naught worse than hurt pride has befallen you.”
She gave him a haughty look. “You are the one bearing a wound.”
James set his mouth in a thin, hard line. She was beyond exasperating. Did he not want to risk having to notice – again – how sweet her lush curves felt against him, he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t deny the precarious situation she’d put herself in by marching alone through a dark and danger-filled wood.
He did curl his hands around his sword belt and glower at her.
That, he could do.
“The cut on my hand is a wee scratch.” He leaned towards her, so close he caught the gillyflower scent of her wildly tumbling hair. “What could have happened to you would have been a much more grievous injury.”
She gave a little shrug, defiant still. “I walk these hills each morn.”
“The new day has no’ yet broken.” James felt an annoying surge of responsibility for her. She was, after all, on Cameron land. Vulnerable and defenseless, despite her ridiculous and headstrong airs.
He glanced at the sky, so dark and with the moon only now beginning to dip beneath the tops of the inky-black pines. The air was brittle and cold and the chill mist swirled everywhere, drifting through the trees and curling along the frost-hardened ground.
Catriona didn’t seem to notice.
James frowned.
Most females would be shivering beneath the folds of their cloaks. They’d be drawing those mantles closer about themselves
. They’d shift their feet, rubbing their arms and blowing on their hands, seeking warmth. In this wood, in the heart of the Glen of Many Legends, they’d also cast cautious glances about them, watching the darkness.
She only watched him.
And she did so in a way that was damned unsettling.
James gave her a hard stare. It was so easy to imagine her as he’d seen her just a short while ago, in the heated depths of his dream. Standing so near to her brought a stirring to his loins, a pestiferous throbbing so annoying it was all he could do not to seize her and give full rein to the maddening heat crawling through him.
Instead, he let his gaze drop to where her cloak outlined the swell of her breasts. Lush, ripe curves he burned to plump and caress. His fingers itched so badly that he balled his hands to tight fists. Other parts of him ached in ways he refused to acknowledge.
She eyed him boldly, the rise and fall of her bosom showing her agitation, fuelling his desire. “I know fine how early it is” – she lifted her chin, her color rising – “you needn’t mind me.”
Any other time he would’ve laughed. Minding her was the last thing he’d like to do to her just now.
If she pushed him, he’d heed those urges.
“This is an ungodly hour.” He struggled to catch himself. “Goodly womenfolk should yet be abed, no’ marching about like she-devils.” He spoke more harshly than he would have liked. But her scent, so light yet tantalizing, was irritating the hell out of him.
He looked her up and down, noting the pleasing curve of her hips, his wicked mind imaging the intimate place between her thighs. She didn’t flinch and -something inside him twisted with annoyance – the longer she accepted his brazen perusal, the more he noticed her damnable scent. It wrapped around him, teasing and provoking.
Her eyes glinted in the moonlight, triumphant. Almost as if she knew.
“You call me a she-devil.” She spoke the word with relish. “If I were such a creature, I’d fire-blast you, making this a morn you’d never forget.”
James almost choked.
She’d already made it a day he’d long remember.
It wasn’t often that a woman’s mere presence made him feel like a ravening beast. She didn’t need fire-blasts. Her scent alone was more than memorable and roused him in ways that weren’t good for him.
Allowing himself to wonder if the curls topping her thighs flamed as brightly as the hair on her head disturbed him enough to make him want to break something.
He tightened his grip on his sword belt, furious.
It’d been forever since he’d lain with a woman. Even so, he’d sooner gorge himself on a trencher piled high with thick, black slabs of peat than allow the seductive fragrance wafting from Catriona MacDonald’s flaming-red hair make him hot, hard, and aroused.
So he kept his scowl in place and did his best not to inhale. “By rights, lady, it is still night.”
“So?” She didn’t blink.
She did touch the amber necklace at her throat, letting her fingers glide along the stones in a way surely meant to provoke him.
He frowned at her, refusing to look lower than her chin. “I’ve ne’er seen you out this early. As a maid of this glen, you-”
“You track my whereabouts?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“You should know it isn’t wise to creep about before the sun rises.” He ignored her objection. “There are reasons this vale is called the Glen of Many Legends. And there are truths behind every hair-raising tale.
“Nor” – he caught another whiff of gillyflower – “is it seemly for-”
“MacDonalds don’t creep anywhere. And you’ve no right to speak of what is seemly. You forfeited that privilege when you charged up behind me, trying to catch me unawares.” She looked him in the eye, daunting. “Until you accosted me, I’ve never once felt threatened here.”
“Perhaps you should be more wary the next time you venture into this wood.” James threw a glance at the silent trees. Blackness lurked there, deep and impenetrable. “There are many men about just now. Strangers unused to our Highland ways.”
“Then they shouldn’t be here.”
“But they are. And none of us can say what might push one of them past his limits.” He wasn’t about to mention the hooded figure. Cameron men didn’t frighten women unduly. But she did need a warning.
“You could tempt one of these Lowlanders into villainy.” He spoke true, seeing no reason to lie. The proud tilt of her head was proof enough that she knew her worth. Whether she knew what her kind of vital sensuality could do to a man was another matter.
“And you, James Cameron?” Her sapphire eyes burned into him. “Are you tempted?”
He snorted, keeping his answer to himself.
But he did let his gaze flick over her again, certain she was disaster walking. Her hair spilled freely now, curling around her face and her shoulders in seductive dishevelment. And her cloak had come undone in their tussle and gaped open, revealing how provocatively her gown’s low-cut bodice clung to the round fullness of her breasts. Her ambers gleamed against those luscious swells and she still toyed with the necklace, letting its golden length slide across her hand, twining it suggestively around her wrist.
Her high color and all those lush, ripe curves would be any man’s undoing. But it was her spirit that proved irresistible. He burned for her with a part of himself that had nothing to do with honor or clan loyalties, and everything to do with his maleness. Just the provocative blaze in her eyes took his breath and made him desire her with a fierceness he’d ever felt for any woman.
He could take her, quenching his need….
Instead, he straightened his shoulders, incensed that she had such an effect on him.
“Well?” She let the necklace fall. “Have I pushed you past your limits?”
“You test my patience merely being here. This is Cameron land and no place for a MacDonald. Nor are you to my taste – as I’ve told you.” Guilt flayed him on the lie. “I came after you because it is my duty to ensure no ills befall a woman. As chief, especially, I am sworn to defend the weak and-”
“You speak like my brother. He-” she broke off abruptly, her face coloring.
“Your brother is a fool.” James meant it. Were Alasdair MacDonald before him now, he’d upbraid him for his light-mindedness. “No chief of merit would allow a woman, much less his sister-”
He stared at her, realization dawning. “He doesn’t know, does he? Somehow you’ve tricked Alasdair, slipping away behind his back to sneak down the glen each morn and glare your venom at the Lowland minions building their viewing platforms and barricades.”
“They deserve glares.” She bent a heated gaze on him, daring him to disagree.
He didn’t, but that wasn’t the point.
He took a step towards her. “You spearing them with stares will change nothing. The men of this glen will deal with them, as ever we have done.”
“Do as you will.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “I say it is the trial by combat that will serve naught. My glares show Sir Walter and his ilk that at least one dweller of this glen despises them.”
“I ne’er said they are to my liking. And you” – his voice was steely – “will answer me now. Your brother doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
“He knows I’ve been coming here.” Her gaze met and held his, indignant still. “He wasn’t pleased, it is true. He ranted, even threatening to set a guard at my bedchamber door. That’s why I left Blackshore so early. It was necessary to get away while he slept.”
James stared at her, torn between admiring her spirit and being annoyed to discover Alasdair was a better man than he cared to admit.
But the MacDonald chief had made one error he wouldn’t have. “Your brother should’ve made good his threat to have your room guarded.”
“He did.” She tilted her head as she looked at him. “I persuaded one of the laundresses to distract the man as I slipped away.”
&
nbsp; James watched something like amusement flicker in her eyes. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Catriona MacDonald might be virtuous – indeed, he was certain of it – but she was anything but innocent.
She was a she-devil.
And whether it suited her or not, he was escorting her back to her brother’s keep. Now, before the torrid images from his dream could return to torture him. He could see her still, her naked body swathed in moon glow and her glorious breasts swaying with her sinuous movements. Her nipples tight and thrusting, begging his touch….
James scowled, the breath scorching his lungs. “I’ll see you returned to Blackshore.” His voice was rough, strained. “Quickly, before you vex even me beyond endurance.”
“I can go myself. You needn’t-”
“Ah, but I must.” He towered over her, the devil in him wakening. “I would have words with your brother. It is in his interest, and my own, that he knows to place a more stalwart guard on your door. One who isn’t so easily lured from his duty.”
She jerked away when he reached for her. “You wouldn’t dare-”
“I dare much, sweet.” He was on her in a beat, sliding an arm around her waist and clamping her to his side as he marched her into the trees, leading her in the direction of her brother’s stronghold.
“Let me go!” She tried to wriggle free, but he only tightened his grip.
“Och, I’ll release you, no worries.” He tromped on, not about to risk a glance at her. “You’ll be free of me as soon as we reach Blackshore’s gate.”
Not a moment before. Though he kept that sentiment to himself.
Catriona MacDonald was one dangerous female.
He’d be more than happy to hand her into her brother’s care. The only trouble was that some deep and secret part of him wished she’d manage to slip away again. He wouldn’t mind enjoying another round of argument with her. Perhaps next time, he’d even kiss her, plundering her lips and scattering her wits, regardless of her name.
For all her evil-tempered fieriness, she was magnificent.
Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1 Page 4
