“O-o-oh…” She turned her head, closing her eyes. She reveled in the tantalizing magic of his hand lighting across the very top of her thighs, then stroking and teasing her secret places. Each questing touch proved so wickedly exciting. It was exquisite bliss and she wanted to drown in the wonder of every new sensation.
Nothing had prepared her for such headiness.
Feeling almost intoxicated, she started rocking her hips again. And she made no protest when he lifted her knees and urged them open. His caresses turned hotter, more deliberate, as he explored her intimately. Tingling heat curled low in her belly, a startling tension that quickened her breath. She felt exhilarated, aware of something urgent and desperately necessary that hovered just beyond her reach. And whatever it was, she wanted it.
“Kendrew…” She breathed his name, stunned that this between them was so much greater than she’d expected at Castle Haven, in Catriona’s bedchamber.
This was…
Magic.
Tempestuous passion beyond her wildest imaginings, and so right that she knew their connection swept past their carnal attraction and straight into the deepest corners of their hearts. She felt that, knew it by the glowing happiness spreading through her, warming her soul.
The shocking pleasure between her thighs turned into an exquisite, aching hunger as his fingers drifted over her. He looked deep into her eyes as he touched her, and the dark passion smoldering in his gaze intensified the intimacy.
She arched her back, pressing against his hand. Her entire body felt hot, heavy with yearning. “Dear sweet saints-”
“No’ yet, precious.” His voice was low and deep, roughened by lust. “We’ve the whole night before us.”
Isobel’s heart skittered. Again, she felt a flutter of nerves.
She wanted so much more than this one night.
But she’d think of that later, when the moment came to tell him her clan name. Just now she was lost in sensual awakening, tumbling deep into sweet, mind-numbing abyss. Then he circled his thumb over a spot that gave her such prickling, concentrated pleasure she’d swear the stars fell from the sky to glitter around them.
“Sweet lass...” He nipped her ear, and then claimed her lips in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, desire mounting.
“I could kiss you all the night through.” He stretched out beside her now, rolling on top of her, stroking the insides of her thighs until she let her knees fall even wider apart, welcoming him.
Anticipation rippled through her, taking her breath when his manhood nudged her where his fingers had teased her only moments before. Hot, granite-hard, and as silky-smooth as her gown, that part of him slid back and forth against her, the intimacy scalding.
“Isobel of the Ambers, you are beautiful.” He pulled her skirts higher, bunching her gown about her hips, freeing her of that last shred of modesty.
She didn’t care, glorying in the heat of his big, strong body looming over her. She even reveled in the rush of cold air on her naked, most private places. And how he deepened their kiss, letting his tongue slip slowly in and out of her parted lips, the sinuous gliding a preparation for what was about to come.
She was ready.
This wasn’t a sacrifice, but something she wanted so desperately.
Then he was reaching down between them, positioning his length to claim her at last.
“Kendrew…” She didn’t care if he heard the yearning in her voice. She did slide her arms around his shoulders, gripping tight, urging him on.
Her heart was splitting.
Then he entered her and that part of her split, too. Fiery, stinging heat stabbed into her vitals, her innermost place clamping tight, protesting the intrusion. He froze above her, his head thrown back, and his neck and shoulder muscles straining. A terrible, snarl-like growl rumbled low in his chest, escaping through his clenched teeth as his manhood jerked against her softness. Molten warmth touched her, damping her thighs.
His seed?
Surely so, but he didn’t move. He just drew a quick breath as if in agony. Isobel knew he was partly inside her. The burning pain was too great otherwise. It hurled sharp waves across her most tender places, squeezing her chest, stealing her breath.
“Don’t stop.” She curled her hand around his neck, pulling his mouth back down to her, kissing him deeply. She put all her passion in the kiss, hoping to distract him from her annoying tightness.
The pureness she knew would turn him from her.
“It’s been a while, see you…” She twirled her tongue around his, holding the back of his head, not letting him pull away.
She tried to sound worldly. She even nipped his lower lip, hoping to seem seductive, knowledgeable in the ways of men and pleasuring them.
“Then you’re no’ ready.” He broke her kiss, lifting up on his arms to look at her. “And I-… no woman has e’er driven me to spill so…” He didn’t finish.
He was frowning.
“I thought…” His face was fierce, confused, and disappointed.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Isobel lied, not daring to tell him she was a maid.
“Humph.” He didn’t look convinced. Far from it, he pushed up on his knees, reaching for her raised skirts, surely meaning to pull down the gown, covering her.
Before he could, his eyes rounded and he leapt to his feet, staring down at her as if she’d grown horns and a long, forked tail.
“Sakes!” He jammed his hands on his hips, suspicion all over him. “You weren’t ‘not ready,’ you were a virgin! And a lady, I’ll vow.” He sounded livid, his eyes blazing. “Why else wear such a dagger on your thigh?”
“Dagger?” Isobel blinked. She’d forgotten Catriona’s bejeweled lady’s dirk, strapped near the top of her right leg. And, she realized, hidden by her bunched skirts until this moment.
“It’s for defense.” She spoke true. “No lady would traipse through the glen without-”
“So it’s true.” The horror on Kendrew’s face alerted her to her mistake.
Isobel sat up, horror washing through her. “Times have been fraught here of late.” She tried to deflect his attention from her gaffe. “There were broken men about mere months ago, making trouble after the trial by combat. Even in Rannoch Moor, one hears-”
“You are no’ Rannoch wench.” He threw his plaid back over his shoulder, brushing angrily at the folds. “Thon women have no need to protect themselves from brigands. They greet every man gladly.” He was scowling now. “Nor would they possess such a dagger as yours.
“Such a woman might earn an amber necklace, aye. A pretty bauble for a night well spent.” His voice was cold, the words harsh. “She wouldn’t own a gem-crusted lady’s dirk. A dagger of such worth could buy her a fine house in Glasgow, servants to attend her. She’d turn her treasure into good, hard coin. Only a true gentle-born female would carry such a blade strapped to her thigh.”
The look he gave her was like a fist to the heart. “Or will you be denying it?”
Isobel scrambled to her feet, shoving her arms into her sleeves. “The dagger is not mine.”
“I dinnae believe you.” Kendrew folded his arms, a different man than moments ago. His face grew as hard as the dreagan stones, his eyes as dark as the mist. “I also doubt your name is Isobel.”
“It is.” Her heart was sinking, the night’s cold suddenly icy; the bright silver sky now gray and dismal. “The dagger belongs to my good-sister, Catriona. She didn’t think I should make the journey here without-”
“Great Odin’s balls!” Kendrew’s brows shot upward. “You’re Isobel Cameron!” He reeled back as if someone twice his size had punched him. All color drained from his face, his expression setting off a flurry of panic inside her. “You’re Cameron’s sister. How could I not have recognized you?”
He shook his head, disbelief rolling off him. “And now I’ve sullied you. A great regret.”
“No.” Isobel started forward, reaching for him. “You’ve do
ne nothing I didn’t desire.” Her voice cracked, shameful heat stinging her eyes. “I wanted to see you tonight and so I slipped away-”
“You didn’t come here to be ravished.” He slammed the ball of his palm against his forehead, pacing back and forth in front of her. “Never in my life have I lain with a virgin, a daughter of good house. I’ve prided myself on my restraint, challenged other men, even banishing a few from my guard when they caused the fall of an innocent. Now…”
“Nothing has happened.” Isobel knew that wasn’t true.
The world was ending.
Pain lanced her chest, making it so hard to breathe. His rejection stunned her, plunging her into darkness. She felt chilled, hollow inside. She should have been more patient, waited until he finally heeded her brother’s invitations, came to Haven.
Now…
She swallowed, wishing the burning in her eyes wasn’t making it so difficult to see. “Nothing terrible happened,” she said again, trying to banish the awful look from his face. “You didn’t-”
“I touched you.” He whirled to face her. “That’s enough. I stole your most prized possession. I-” he broke off, looking ready to murder.
“You didn’t hurt me.” Isobel went to him, touching his arm. “Please, it is Midsummer Eve. I am fine and no harm was done. Can we not just-”
“I don’t pillage virgins.” He jerked away from her, stepping back as if she’d scalded him. “Nor do I touch ladies of any sort. Not even the ones who’d willingly share their charms. I thought you were one of the Rannoch women. And if this hadn’t been Midsummer Eve, if I hadn’t been so muddled-headed from the revels, I’d have seen right away that you’re no common light-skirt.
“I would’ve sent you home to Castle Haven faster than you can blink.” He crossed back to her, towering above her. “That’s what I’ll be doing now. You’ll be on your way as soon as I gather a few stout men to escort you. I’d take you myself, but that’s no longer wise.”
“You’re making a grave error.” Isobel lifted her chin, getting angry now.
“My mistake was jumping down off Slag’s Mound.” He glared at her. “Be sure I’ll ne’er do anything so foolhardy again. For certain I’ll no’ commit such nonsense with James Cameron’s sister.”
“I am Isobel.” She held his gaze, knew her eyes were blazing. “Simply Isobel.”
“You are-” He snapped his mouth shut, his brows lowering in a ferocious scowl.
“I am a woman who admired you.” Isobel kept her back straight. “I have done so a while. And this night I also desired you, greatly.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, striving for dignity. “I see no shame in what happened between us.”
“You speak plain.” The coldness of his tone squeezed her like a vise.
“I always do.” She lifted her brows infinitesimally. “Someday you might realize that such a quality is worth even more than a woman’s breasts, the over-ripe charms of a female who ‘greets all men gladly.’”
She tugged on her sleeves, adjusting them. Then, because the devil was riding her, she gave him a small, chilly smile.
He looked at her, his mouth set in a hard, tight line. “Dinnae think to try such foolery again, Lady Isobel. I’ll no’ be responsible for my actions if you do.”
Isobel hardly heard him.
His words didn’t matter. It was his expression that made her heart lurch. The bitterness in his tone that let her know how much he regretted what had happened.
Quite possibly he detested her.
She was now more than halfway in love with him.
And she’d ruined everything. Her only option was to get away from him, leaving his sight and land with as much pride and grace as she could muster. And that wouldn’t be easy with her eyes so bright and her chin threatening to quiver. Her bodice laces still loose and her hair tumbling to her hips in wild disorder.
She looked a fright and felt worse.
But she was also a Cameron.
A daughter of the Glen of Many Legends, and she did have steel in her blood. She possessed the strength of generations and an iron, unbending will. Even if she bled rivers inside, she’d be damned if anyone would know she’d been so terribly wounded.
So she took a deep breath and shook out her skirts, preparing for a grand exit. “There were three Rannoch Moor lovelies looking for you earlier.” She used her coolest, most ladylike tone. “If you hurry, you might catch them before another of your men takes opportunity. She glanced round, then pointed to the bonfires. “I do believe they went that way.”
Not surprising, he looked to where she gestured.
Isobel took advantage, hitching her skirts and marching away through the mist and rock whence she’d come. She didn’t hurry and she kept her back straight, her head high, as she made her way over the broken ground. She could feel Kendrew’s furious stare boring into her. But she didn’t glance back, not giving him the satisfaction.
They’d meet again, she knew.
And the next time she’d wield a more powerful weapon than lust. She knew him better now. And she suspected that the one thing he most wanted was the very thing he professed to avoid: a lady.
She was that, as well he knew.
He already desired her.
Sooner or later, he’d accept what they’d both learned this night, however ghastly the encounter ended. They were perfect for each other. And their passion, now unleashed, would drive them back together.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter 4
A bove the thick silence of Castle Haven, Isobel heard the thudding of her heart as loudly as if she stood again in the midst of Midsummer Eve revels, the primordial knocking of Mackintosh spears on rock still ringing in her ears. The sound followed her through the glen, as did the agitated rush of her blood. The latter increased when she’d gained enough distance from Nought territory to quicken her pace without denting her pride.
The last thing she’d wanted was for Kendrew to see how deeply his rejection stung her.
A lady kept her dignity always.
Straight-backed, calm, and ever in control was her credo.
But here, in the confines of her bedchamber and in one of the smallest, most still hours of the night, there was no one to see her. And so her emotions were in turmoil. Her heart refused to quiet. The rapid pounding would soon bruise her ribs, she was sure.
And that would happen with good reason.
Kendrew had made her a woman.
They’d crossed a line. And no matter what happened now, her life was forever changed.
Shivering in the chill air - she stood naked before her wash basin and pitcher – she reached for the cloth she’d been using to bathe herself. Even in the dim light of a single night candle, she could see that her body was now clean. But the linen bore stains. Like a man’s battle wounds, the blood smears stared up at her, demanding redress.
Reminding her with a rush of emotion that she had no choice but to pursue her goal of making Kendrew want her with the same fierce yearning she felt for him. Futile as her hopes now appeared, she couldn’t cast them aside with a quick flick of her wrist.
She suspected he would think less of her if she did.
Kendrew wasn’t a man to appreciate weakness.
Only strength would impress him.
A thrill raced through Isobel at the thought of how much he’d impressed her.
She could still feel how her skin warmed beneath his hands. Echoes lingered of the delicious tingles brought on by his touch. Recalling his deep, oh-so-rousing kisses, set her heart aflutter. She wanted him to pull her against him again, cupping her face and slanting his mouth over hers, ravishing her. Truth be told, she’d always want him because any way she turned it, the answer remained the same.
The evening’s tumult beneath the dreagan stones had been so much more than intimate embraces and desperate, scintillating kisses.
Their desire stretched beyond pure need and fest-night carnality. Something reckless and e
lemental had sprung to life in her when she’d seen him cloaked in smoke and mist high atop Slag’s Mound. With his war ax glinting and a long spear clutched in his hand, he’d looked able to conquer any foe. He was a man who’d never be bested, a warrior as implacable as the rock of his land. When he’d leapt down in front of her, the world had fallen away beneath them. It’d been a moment like nothing else in her life.
When he’d claimed her, sealing their bond with one look from his blazing blue eyes, the night’s magic was theirs. His bold gaze had branded her heart, body, and soul.
As she’d known would happen.
She’d just believed he’d be equally affected by her.
Now she knew better.
And even the solace of her much-loved bedchamber couldn’t ease the pang of acknowledging that truth. Usually, her room’s lightness swiftly chased her cares. She loved the chamber’s loftiness, set as it was near the top of the tower. And with its bright white-painted walls, tall, arched windows, and colorful silk hangings, the room was one of the finest at Castle Haven. A fire always burned in the grate, though the peats were presently little more than softly glowing embers. The earthy-rich scent of peat blended well with the strewing herbs of the floor rushes, lending a warm, cozy air.
If her brother’s dog, Hector, visited the chamber – he was sadly absent now – the old dog’s company made her quarters all the more welcoming.
This night, for the first time she could recall, her bedchamber felt cold and empty.
Her pristine bed, as yet untouched, seemed to chastise her for her foolishness.
Yet she’d started the night with such hope.
It still beat inside her.
Her skin prickled with annoyance. Disappointment lanced her, taunting and painful as the room’s chill swept her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, reminding her she was still unclothed.
Trying to ignore the sting of defeat, she grabbed a length of drying linen and began scrubbing her body, dashing away the remaining droplets of water. Her brow creased when she looked down and her gaze lit on the tiny mark on the left side of her lower belly. Angled between her navel and her inky-black female curls, the dark-brown mark was a beauty spot. Or so she liked to tell herself.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 6
