To Desire a Highlander

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

His wits returning, Roag threw back his plaid.

  “Bluidy hell, what’s amiss?” He leapt to his feet, his heart racing as his eyes adjusted to the room’s deep shadow.

  “Nothing,” Lady Gillian’s voice drifted to him from the maze of black and gray that was just beginning to take form. “All is good, no cause for alarm.”

  Say you. Roag fisted his eyes, rubbing them. He was too weary to assume the hard look he should turn on her, too sleepy to find harsh, uncaring words.

  The dog’s cries had pierced him. The worry in the lass’s voice sent cold dread straight through him. Much as he needed her to think him a true bastard, nothing moved him more than old dogs and women in distress.

  “Where are you?” He took a step forward, still straining to see in the dimness.

  “I am here, with Skog.”

  That I know! Roag tamped down his temper and glanced about, his vision slowly improving.

  It wasn’t necessary to look far.

  The brazier still glimmered, its faint glow showing him Lady Gillian on her knees before him. The great shaggy beast she’d bent over, her arms cradling him as she pressed the side of her face to his shoulder, crooning the soft words he’d heard in his sleep.

  Blessedly, Skog was no longer howling.

  Unfortunately, he was whimpering.

  And hearing his misery made Roag’s gut clench. He hoped the beast wasn’t ill. He loved all animals, but was especially fond of dogs. He hadn’t known this one long, but already felt an attachment.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Now that he could see better, he could tell the lass was full naked. By the soft glow of the brazier and the thin slant of moonlight yet spilling through the window, the entirety of her charms were picked out in all her lush, well-made womanliness.

  Roag closed his eyes again for a moment, pulled a hand down over his face.

  For one crazy-mad moment, he prayed to all the gods that when he again opened them, he’d find himself wrapped in his plaid on the cold stone floor.

  Still asleep and dreaming.

  Not really wanting to, he cracked one eye, and then the other.

  Lady Gillian was still naked.

  But now she’d scooted around behind her dog, was trying to shield her nakedness with his bulk.

  “Have you no decency?” She crouched lower, glared at him over the beast’s head. “Turn around!”

  “I have already seen most of what you’d hide.” Roag didn’t budge. “Now I’d have a look at your dog. His howls—”

  “Are over,” she cut him off, “and you needn’t be concerned.”

  She drew back a bit, glanced at her dog. For a moment, the annoyance left her face and she looked younger than she was, vulnerable in a way that tore at him. She smoothed a hand along the dog’s side, leaned close to kiss the top of his head before returning her gaze to him. “We go through this now and then. Skog has fearful dreams. He—”

  “He is blessed to have you.” The words sprang from Roag’s lips, coming from his heart, and too swiftly for him to catch them. He hadn’t wanted to sound sympathetic. But he was, more than she’d ever know.

  More important, he wanted her covered.

  “Here.” He snatched his plaid off the floor, swirling it around her shoulders. “You’ll catch a chill.”

  “Thank you!” She clutched the plaid about her, glancing down to adjust its folds so that nothing below her chin or above her knees remained visible. At last, she looked up at him again, a blush staining her cheeks. “You were sleeping so soundly. I didn’t mean for you to catch me…”

  “Naked?” Roag felt his scowl return, his cock twitching. “That I believe, lady.” He grabbed his tunic, pulling it quickly over his head, glad its length would hide what she did to him. “Now tell me what happened.”

  “I already did.” She stayed where she was, stroked her hand down Skog’s back. “Sometimes he whines and howls when he sleeps,” she explained, speaking with a softness that wound its way right inside him, touching places nowhere near his loins.

  Places no woman had ever affected and that he didn’t want to allow now.

  So he folded his arms, hoped his expression was suitably unmoved. “So he dreams?”

  “He does, aye.” She blinked, her eyes glistening in the dark. “They frighten him. He’s done this as long as I’ve had him, so I believe he is reliving the shipwreck.”

  “When this happens, you soothe him.” He spoke to have something to say.

  He knew the answer.

  But he’d rather say it himself than have her speak words that would wrap even more tightly about his chest. He didn’t want to hear a truth that would make him like and admire her, a softness and appeal that would undermine his restraint.

  In truth, he was a master of resistance.

  Never in all his days had he stood fully unclothed before an equally bare-bottomed lass and not ended such a bountiful night without a tumble in the heather. With pleasure he had indulged in heated romps in castle stairwells, or fast and furious joinings on the silken sheets of women who favored luxury. On such occasions, all that had mattered was a mutual slaking of needs, then a cordial parting of ways, both parties depleted and content.

  Such had been his life.

  And he wasn’t after change.

  He did frown.

  Here he was in the wee small hours, fashing himself over an ancient dog that wasn’t even his, and a woman who, however desirable, would no doubt cheer if he fell dead.

  “To be sure I soothe him.” Lady Gillian’s voice slipped through his annoyance, thrusting an even pointier sword into his heart. “Skog had a rough start in life. It is not surprising that he sometimes remembers the dark times.

  “It is my hope that each frightening dream will be the last such,” she said, rubbing the dog behind his ears before she pushed to her feet. “If I can’t spare him the bad memories, I try to give him as many good ones as I can.”

  “I am sure you do.” Something tells me you are skilled at creating memories to brand a man, even a four-legged one!

  “I hope so.” Her tone held a guilelessness that punched him. “Skog’s experiences at sea weighed heavy on him.”

  “Yet you took him on a voyage to this isle, exposing him to—”

  “The journey could be the reason for his troubling dream.” She nodded, not denying it.

  “Then why risk him?” Lest you knew of your father’s plans to ambush me with your clan’s fool Horn of Bliss? Roag glanced at the dog, trying to ignore how his heart twisted to see him sprawled on his side, his legs sticking straight out, his light snores hinting that he was no longer distressed. “You could have been returned to Sway by the morrow’s gloaming. Surely, he would have done well enough without you for such a short time.”

  “Skog goes where I go. It was best to keep him with me.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Not for the reason you’re thinking.”

  “What would that be?”

  Her chin lifted. “I’d hoped to gain passage to Glasgow. You believe I knew my father intended to handfast us.”

  “I believe what I see, lady.” Roag didn’t deny it, welcoming the reminder of her perfidy.

  In the chill dark of this room, at such a late hour, her ragged old dog at their feet, and her loveliness limned silver by moonlight, he’d almost felt sympathy for her. He had lusted after her.

  Now he caught himself.

  Her eyes narrowed, sparking like emeralds set afire. “You see what you desire.”

  “That is so.” Be glad you dinnae ken what that is!

  Roag returned her frown, half inclined to tell her how easily she unleashed his baser urges.

  Instead, he rubbed his brow.

  His head was beginning to throb—which was a much better annoyance at his temples than elsewhere. “I have men in my crew, lady, who claim to have seen the infamous Blue Men whilst sailing the waters of the Minch near Skye. A few will swear they’ve spotted the great beast
ie said to swim in Loch Ness. One is Erse, an Irishman, and he’s the worst of the lot, aye telling us that he glimpses faeries dancing in swirls of mist.

  “I dinnae hold with such foolery.” He let his tone challenge her, knew instinctively that she was keeping something from him. “I trust only in the truth.”

  “Yet you are here as a liar, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

  “So I am, aye.”

  “Then you cannot speak of truth.”

  “Have a care, lass.” He stepped closer to her, furious that her words made him feel guilty. For sure, he was here to deceive, but for the most noble reasons and under orders from the highest voice in the land, King Robert himself.

  “There are many shades of honesty,” he said, struggling to rein in his temper. “How it appears to you depends on the light you’re standing in.”

  She shook her head. “When it applies to you, aye?”

  He smiled faintly. “I cannae allow myself to think differently, lass. Matters greater than you or I hang on what I do here.”

  “What a shame then, that you’re so wrong.”

  Roag scratched his beard, wondering if he was. He hoped not. If so, the maid and her fetching presence would pose all kinds of other problems. The sort he didn’t need and would be hard-pressed to ignore.

  So he gripped her chin and scowled down at her. “I’ve warned you no’ to rile me. Above all, dinnae forget I’m Donell so long as your kin are yet here. Remember that, and hold your tongue.”

  “If I don’t?” She held his gaze, her own anger shimmering all over her.

  “You’re a fool.” Roag whipped an arm around her, pulling her to him. A mistake he regretted at once, for he could feel the soft fullness of her breasts pressed to his chest, became too aware of her feminine warmth through the wool of his plaid, the thinner linen of his tunic.

  “I’m a man of my word, sweet.” How sad that was no longer true.

  He wanted nothing more than to ravish her—and he was of a powerful mind to do so now.

  Especially here in the quiet of the moon-washed night, them both naked save for a bit of cloth. By her own father’s doing, he had every right to claim her. Even if he wasn’t Donell MacDonnell, he was the new Laird of Laddie’s Isle. Leastways for so long as his business kept him here.

  The MacDonnell’s bride, however much he wished otherwise, fell in as part of his mission.

  And just now, with her lavender perfume scenting the air, the feel of her pressed against him…

  Never had he been so tortured.

  Worse, he could tell by looking at her that she wouldn’t leave him be this night. The fight stood all over her, the spirit he secretly found so appealing, almost crackling in the scant breath of space between them. He wanted her badly, but he wasn’t a man to take a woman against her will. He reviled such men and would never stoop so low. Not even if he desired her so fiercely he could taste his lust on the back of his tongue.

  He had to be rid of her.

  Send her fleeing back to her bed, hiding her much-too-tempting self beneath the covers.

  If she dared come near him again, her sparking eyes and anger-flushed loveliness tempting him, he’d still not touch her. But he would spend the rest of the night rock-hard and miserable.

  It wasn’t a pleasant notion.

  And he could think of only one way to ensure his night’s peace.

  “I’ve heard the devil also keeps his word,” she taunted then, almost as if she’d guessed his plan. “That doesn’t make his evil good. It only proves—”

  “There are ways to silence a clacking tongue, sweet.” He made no attempt to keep the menace out of his voice. “Dinnae provoke me into—”

  “What?” She glared at him. “Kissing me?”

  “Damnation!” Roag tightened his arms around her, pulling her even harder against him. He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with a fury that shocked him. Hunger such as he’d never known sluiced him as he plundered her lips, devouring her sweetness and drinking her breath, some still coherent corner of his mind warning that he’d rarely done anything more foolish.

  She tipped back her head, her lips opening wider, her tongue meeting his. She gripped the back of his head, threading her fingers in his hair, clinging to him as if she enjoyed the kiss—as if she burned for him with the same ferocity.

  It wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for.

  He’d thought to send her scurrying into the shadows, shocked and furious as she dived beneath her bed covers, never to come near him again.

  Instead…

  The vixen returned his kiss, her fiery passion sending such intense pleasure through him that he feared he’d spill.

  Before he could embarrass himself, he tore away from her, his relief great when he saw the desire in her eyes change into outrage. “That was only a taste, sweetness. If you wish more, a fully intimate sampling offered in full view of your family, then you’ll remember my kiss when we go belowstairs in a few hours.

  “You’ll imagine what would happen if I kissed you elsewhere,” he warned, flicking his gaze to the place he meant, despising himself for shocking her.

  Disliking himself even more because he would dearly love to give her such kisses!

  Instead he leaned in, letting his gaze narrow on hers. “I dinnae like kissing lasses I’ve nae interest in.” I pray the gods you cannae tell how interested I am in you.

  Feeling more and more like the devil she’d named him, he straightened. “Dinnae force me to do so again. Come the dawn, you’ll walk at my side, looking pleased to be there. You’ll make nae mention of devils and liars. You—”

  “I will curse you to hell!” She hauled back and slapped him, the crack of her hand across his face loud in the tiny room.

  Roag didn’t care.

  Indeed, he welcomed her anger.

  Only so would she believe the threats he’d made to her. She’d do as he required of her, and her family would depart in peace, sparing him the annoyance of keeping them all on the isle should she relent and blurt the truth of his name.

  So he watched as she finally did as he’d hoped, storming back to her bed.

  He waited for a surge of triumph.

  It didn’t come.

  What did was a rise of bile in his throat. His mission here had soured before it’d begun and there was only one way he could think of to regain lost ground.

  It wasn’t enough that he’d told the lass his name.

  If he hoped to sleep of a night, he’d have to reveal his purpose as well.

  His honor demanded it.

  But only after the departure of her kin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Several hours later, Gillian stood fully dressed beside the window of her wee bedchamber and decided the gods were wise to let the day dawn so cold and fog-shrouded. The gloom felt fitting at the hour she must bid farewell to her father and brothers, never knowing if she’d see them again in this life. If her gaze would ever again fall upon her beloved home, the fair and distant Isle of Sway.

  What she did see was Roag hefting poor Skog onto his shoulder. Regrettably, his kindness to her dog only reminded her of his promise that he aye kept his word.

  And that unsettled her.

  No, it terrified her.

  Just as he clearly intended to honor his vow to carry Skog up and down the stairs, so would he also slay her kin where they stood if she dared to vex him.

  Despite all, she was sorely tempted.

  It went against her nature to bow down before criminals—and to her, he was no less villainous.

  That he was kind to old dogs meant nothing.

  Once, long ago on a wee neighboring island, a half-crazed man had slit the throats of all his four neighbors, claiming their large number ruined the isle’s peace.

  That man had loved dogs, having over a dozen he doted on.

  Roag the Bear had sworn to kill many more men than four. And his potential victims weren’t strangers. They were her nearest and dea
rest kin, blood of her blood.

  She took a long, deep breath of the chill sea air, bracing herself to give the performance of a lifetime. To pretend she hadn’t just become the handfasted bride of a dead man, but that he’d also taken her innocence, a deed she’d supposedly accepted and enjoyed.

  Praise the gods, she’d woken first. It had been no small feat to wash and dress in the dark, and so swiftly as she’d done. But she’d managed. The alternative, tending her ablutions and pulling on her clothes before his wicked eyes, had spurred her on.

  He’d taken his time.

  She’d positioned herself at the window, keeping her back to the room until he was decent.

  Now he was provoking her further, winning Skog’s gratitude, and also by pausing at the foot of her bed to retrieve the bloodied roll of bed linen.

  She’d hoped he’d forgotten.

  “Must you take that belowstairs?” Her cheeks heated as he tucked the sullied cloth beneath his belt.

  “Aye, I must.” He shifted Skog in his arms, reached to pat the cloth. “Proof that I ravished you.”

  Gillian leaned toward him. “They’ll believe you without seeing a blood-smeared cloth.” With your swagger, no man would dare doubt it. “It’s a barbaric custom.”

  “And a well-kept one.” He opened the door, stepping out onto the landing. “If all such virtue-trophies were laid in a row, there’d be enough to circle this fine realm more times than a man can count.”

  Aye, a man!

  Gillian kept the sentiment to herself and followed him down the winding stair. She didn’t have a choice, really. Devilish as he was, if she even hesitated, he’d surely deliver Skog safely to the hall and then return for her, tossing her over his shoulder as he’d done with her dog.

  Only he’d use much less care with her.

  She frowned and hitched her skirts as they neared the bottom steps. In her wildest dreams, she’d not have been able to imagine such an infuriating man.

  He stopped at the base of the stair tower to lower Skog to the floor as gently as if the old dog were made of glass-spun ribbons. Most annoying of all, she could tell he truly cared for Skog’s well-being.

  And didn’t her pet turn adoring, grateful eyes on him?