Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  Kendrew would be visible from any one of them.

  Damn the man!

  She needed to go down and speak to him.

  Catriona was tapping her chin, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps there is hope for the howling madman after all. He did act the gallant, all things considered. Who would’ve thought he’d abandon his pleasure?”

  Isobel blushed. Her friend’s words brought a rush of vivid images racing across her mind. The hot smolder in Kendrew’s eyes as he’d reached for her, pulling her against him, kissing her so deeply.

  Then…

  She swallowed. “It is said he holds women in high esteem. Ladies, that is.”

  “It’s also said that he has Berserker blood running in his veins.”

  “So?”

  “Such men have a streak of untamed wildness in them. As Odin’s own bodyguard, Berserkers were fearless fighters. Once the battle lust was on them, nothing could hold them back from an affray.”

  Isobel flicked at her sleeve. “We saw how ferociously Kendrew fought last autumn. No one who witnessed the trial by combat would doubt his prowess on the field.”

  “Indeed.” Catriona slipped down from the bed, smoothed her night-robe. The flickering light from the night candle illuminated her face, showing how her blue eyes sparked with purpose. “Some might say that you have stirred his blood lust, pushing him beyond restraint. I’m thinking he’ll not be able to resist the challenge.”

  “He already did.” Isobel couldn’t forget the horror on his face as he’d leapt away from her.

  “You shocked him.” Catriona drew her night-robe more securely about her shoulders. “Once he’s recovered, he’ll come looking for you.

  “You’ve become the battle.” She moved to the door, set her hand on the latch. “But unlike his usual opponents, your weapons aren’t swords, spears, and axes. You must fight him with a woman’s cunning and wit, using your charms and his need for you to best advantage.”

  Isobel bit her lip, watching as her friend cracked the door and peered out into the dimness of the landing. Apparently satisfied, Catriona lifted her hand-torch from its ring on the wall and opened the door wider, stepping over the threshold into the shadows beyond. “Only so will you succeed.” She looked back at Isobel, eyeing her critically. “You must want him badly enough to fight him.”

  “I do.” It was the truth.

  “I wish you didn’t. But you do, so I’ll just warn you to be careful.” Catriona held her gaze for a long moment and then closed the door.

  Isobel stood beside the bed, listening to her friend’s footsteps fade as she made her way down the corridor. She also heard the renewed crunch of a much bolder, heavier tread rising up from beneath her tower window, the sound sluicing her with agitation.

  She must be careful, Catriona had warned.

  Too bad that just now, with Kendrew marching about beneath her bedchamber, his mere presence threatening to make everything even worse than it already was, she really did want to challenge him.

  In truth, she must.

  So she crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door, waiting until the sounds of Catriona’s retreat stilled and she heard nothing but silence. Then she dressed as swiftly as she could and slipped from her room, hurrying down the winding tower stairs much more quickly than she climbed them only a short while ago.

  With luck, she’d reach Kendrew before anyone spotted him.

  And then…

  She didn’t stop long enough to consider what she intended to do beyond snatching her mantle and sending him on his way.

  She did know she wouldn’t shy from using any and all weapons at her disposal. He’d given her no choice by coming here, disrupting her night peace and causing a commotion that could start a clan war. If she greeted him like a fury, it was own fault and no one else’s.

  The battle between them already raged.

  And she was ready to fight.

  Chapter 5

  “You are a scoundrel!”

  Lady Isobel marched out of the narrowly arched postern gate and came forward at speed, waving a hand at the rich blue cloak snapping in the wind above Kendrew’s head. Somehow she managed to look like a queen, all elegance and grace, despite her long strides and the hot color staining her face. Barely restrained fury sparked in her great dark eyes and – Kendrew could hardly bear it – her silky, blue-black hair spilled free, swinging about her hips.

  Her beauty took his breath, her spirit and vibrancy touching him much too deeply.

  He could so easily succumb to her.

  Cast aside the niggling doubt that warred with his more honorable reason for coming here.

  Instead he ignored the heat racing through his veins, damned her ability to rile him, and wondered if any female had ever stirred such hunger in him.

  She was a vixen through and through.

  And he was…

  He didn’t want to know. It suited him better to just watch her storm toward him, starlight shining on her long, unbound hair. Her anger only brought out the worst in him, warning that he’d find himself in serious trouble if he allowed her closer than an arm’s length.

  Already, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

  So he braced himself, aware that he was much too smitten. His wits addled because she was so annoyingly delectable. His good sense scattered by the all-too-fresh memory of the feel, scent, and taste of her.

  “A scoundrel, do you hear?” She reached him then, the flush on her cheeks almost heating the air. “Many say worse, calling you a howling madman. Now I see they weren’t erring.”

  “Aye, they weren’t.” Kendrew fought the upward tilt at the left corner of his mouth. It was all he could not to grin out right.

  He was proud of the names folk called him.

  And fury became Isobel.

  Fetching color lit her lovely face and her eyes blazed with so much challenge he truly was hard pressed to keep his lips from twitching.

  The shawl she’d flung about her shoulders – apparently in haste - wasn’t knotted and fell loosely, displaying her magnificent bosom in a way that wasn’t good for a man. The lush swells of smooth, creamy skin proved more than enough provocation to squelch his smile.

  His loins tightened painfully, making it all the easier to glare at her.

  She returned the displeasure, her tempting lips setting in a firm, angry line. “My cloak, if you please.” She extended her arm, her hand palm up. “I’ll have it now and spare you brandishing it like a trophy pennant.”

  “Ah, but it is a prize, eh?” Kendrew lowered his arm but didn’t relinquish the fine blue mantle.

  Instead, he swept her a bow. “‘Tis glad I am to see you again, too, Lady Isobel. I feared I might be tromping to and fro out here till the morrow.”

  “You fear nothing, I’m sure.” She snatched the cloak as he straightened, shaking it demonstrably before she folded it over one arm.

  “Or” – she lifted her chin, her tone icy – “can it be my brother scares you? Is fear of James why you came here wearing a war ax?”

  “I rarely go anywhere without Blood Drinker.” Kendrew glanced past her to the tower, eyeing the stout walls up and down. “His blade is sharp and e’er thirsty. If your brother or any of your kinsmen wish to come out here and challenge me, you’ll see how much I fear them. Blood Drinker willnae leave you in doubt.”

  The high flush on her cheeks deepened. “You should not have come here. It was foolish.”

  “And you, lady, are a female who drives men to fool deeds.” Kendrew clenched his hands to fists at his sides, fighting the urge to grab her to him and kiss her. “I’m thinking you do it gladly.”

  Her chin came up again. “I didn’t ask you to return my cloak. Truth is” – she turned and sailed off toward the mist curling along the edge of the wood, leaving him no choice but to follow her – “I can’t imagine how you knew it was mine? There were other ladies at your revels.”

  “Not the sort who’d possess anything so fine.�
�� Kendrew stepped around into her path, preventing her from pressing deeper into the pines.

  The wood surrounding Castle Haven was thick and vast, the tops of the great Caledonian pines keeping out even the silvery sheen of the Midsummer night sky. The trees’ massive girths offered numberless hiding places, absolute privacy. The last thing he needed was to be alone with her in a dark, secluded place. The way just looking at her made the ground seem to tilt beneath his feet warned him how dangerous that would be. He was a scoundrel, after all. And his restraint was swiftly unraveling. His blood was hot, his temper primed. Her swaying hips, the clean, spring violet scent wafting around her, and the shining skein of her unbound hair, were all conspiring to bring out the beast in him.

  She was torturing him.

  And the pain was worse than any hooded executioner could inflict on a man.

  “I was going to return for the mantle in the morning.” She was folding it into a lump, the movements making her breasts bounce. “There was no need-”

  “There was every need.” The words came harsher than he would’ve preferred.

  “Oh?” She settled the lump against her hip. “You are not my keeper.”

  “To be sure, I am not.” Kendrew dragged a hand through his hair, torn between the desire to strangle or kiss her. He did glance at the nearby shadows, the high ramparts of her brother’s castle, half-certain that bastard’s henchmen would be spying on them.

  “After what happened” – he refused to put such a disaster into words – “I did feel a need follow you here. No lady should traipse through the night alone.” His words put a defiant spark in her eyes. “Or can it be that you weren’t unescorted after all?”

  There. He’d broached the possibility that gnawed so unpleasantly inside him.

  “I don’t understand.” She looked about her, taking in the dark outline of the tower against the silver-washed hills, then the silent, night-glistening trees looming behind them. “I am not afraid of the night or this glen. I told you I came on my own.”

  “So you said, aye.” Everything in Kendrew’s gut rebelled against pressing her. The puzzled look on her face didn’t support his suspicions. And – damn her - her nipples were chill-hardened, the thrusting peaks dangerously apparent. Yet he needed the truth. “Could it be your brother sent men to escort you? That they trailed behind you, watching over you without your knowledge?”

  He didn’t say suspected James of trying to bait and trap him, that he wouldn’t put it past the rival chieftain to have used Isobel as a lure.

  He could’ve ordered his men to wait for him to fall for her charms and then rush from hiding to thrust a spear into his back. Such a scene would’ve given the Camerons good reason to start a ruckus at the revels, a time when Kendrew’s own warriors would be ale-taken and vulnerable, not at their fighting best.

  He’d been sure he’d seen mailed spearmen on the far side of the vale, lurking behind an outcrop.

  Through the smoke and mist, he’d thought they were Camerons.

  If they’d been there at all, for he’d blinked and they were gone.

  Uncertainty didn’t sit well with him.

  So he’d come here – for that among other reasons.

  Now…

  The innocent outrage on Isobel’s face made him feel like an arse.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” She glared at him and he had to tamp down his own ire.

  “I speak plain, my lady. You could have come escorted.” He didn’t care that he towered over her, his face set in his most fearsome scowl.

  “I didn’t.” Undaunted, she met his gaze, her eyes unblinking.

  “Then I am gladdened you returned here safely.” He wanted to kiss her, savagely.

  “You said you’d send guardsmen to escort me.” She tossed back her hair, causing it to ripple like ebony silk about her shoulders, the ripe curve of her hips. “Why did you come yourself?”

  He’d told her once.

  He wasn’t going to do so again.

  He did glance up at the clouds and mist, the few stars glimmering high above. There wasn’t a place on her body he trusted himself to rest his gaze just now. “My men were enjoying themselves.” That was true. “I didn’t want to call them away from their pleasures.”

  “I understand.” She gave him the smallest smile, almost regal. She didn’t seem to realize that the laces of her bodice were coming undone, revealing such a wealth of smooth, creamy skin.

  There was also a shadowy hint of nipple, so tempting its tight, puckered state that raw, burning lust shot straight to his groin. Need raced through him like sheeting fire, out of control.

  He ground his teeth, trying not to notice.

  “I truly do.” Her tone was as queenly as her smile.

  “Do what?” He didn’t follow her, his mind distracted by the pounding at his loins. The nipple he could see most clearly, just inside her loosened bodice.

  She would be the end of him, he knew.

  He’d sooner face a score of wild-eyed, ax-swinging Berserkers. Opponents he could face on equal ground. And then cut to ribbons one by one, feeding his blood lust and battle frenzy, taking his mind off her sweet, oh-so-wickedly luscious breasts.

  “Why…” There was something suspiciously soft yet warlike in her tone. “That I understand you had your own pleasure to attend, away from your men and their ribaldry.” She flicked a glance at the stretch of gravel and stone beneath the tower. Silvery light from the Midsummer sky spooled across the ground there, so that the little forecourt seemed to gleam almost accusingly.

  Kendrew knew what was coming.

  Guilt stabbed him.

  The beauty before him tilted her head, her elegant brows winging upward. “What could be a greater thrill than risking my good name by acting the madman beneath my window?”

  “Thon was no act.” Kendrew scowled at her, seeing no need to tell her he’d hoped her brother would appear. He might not have whipped out Blood Drinker, having no mind to unduly frighten her. But breaking a few choice Cameron bones would’ve done him good.

  James deserved no better.

  But the bastard’s sister was looking at him in a way that made the satisfying and respectable pastime of bone breaking seem shameful.

  Her disapproval reminded him anew why he wanted nothing to do with ladies.

  Stepping back – he needed distance from her – he hooked his hands in his sword belt and cleared his throat, loud and manfully.

  “It was your good name I was thinking of when I returned your cloak, Lady Isobel.” That was true enough, among his other reasons.

  “Indeed?” She lifted a brow.

  “Someone would’ve found it, see you?” He glanced at the silken blue lump tucked beneath her elbow. Even scrunched into a bundle, the mantle’s richness caught the eye. “There’s not a soul at Nought who wouldn’t know such a fine raiment ne’er hailed from Rannoch Moor.

  “Tongues would’ve wagged.” He spoke bluntly, knowing she couldn’t deny the truth. “Now no one will have cause to be long-nosed. You have your mantle returned and-”

  “We can just forget what happened?” Her eyes flashed dark fire at him. “Go on as if nothing-”

  “So would be best, aye.” Kendrew felt the heat of her anger clear to his toes.

  For a moment, he thought she was going to strike him. But she only went rigid, her back straightening as she took a long, deep breath.

  “Tell me” – her gaze locked with his – “that you are not so cold.”

  “I am.” He didn’t hesitate. “I am that and more, my lady. Ne’er you forget it.”

  “I doubt I could.” She put back her shoulders, taking a breath.

  Before she could argue further, he turned and strode into the mist. He went swiftly and silently, using his skill at moving unseen through shadows to ensure that she wouldn’t be able to follow.

  He suspected she had the courage to do so. He just hoped she wouldn’t.

  What he wanted was for her to despise him
.

  Only then would she be safe.

  * * *

  Isobel stood as calmly as she could, her gaze on the shifting mist where Kendrew had been a moment before. For such a big, broad-shouldered, and – it must be said – swaggering brute of a man, he’d disappeared into the shadows with astounding swiftness. And he’d done so with such ease and so noiselessly, that she almost wondered if he possessed the Berserkers’ ability to change shape, slipping through the night as wisps of thin, dark mist, undetected as they passed right beneath their enemies’ noses.

  It wouldn’t surprise her. To her mind, he could do anything.

  Just now, he’d infuriated her.

  So she kept her chin raised. Her face set in her most controlled, unaffected expression. She didn’t trust him not to whip around and bellow another insult at her. If he did, she intended to be prepared.

  Cold indifference would slice him deeper than swoons or tears.

  She couldn’t abide simpering females and thought even less of those who started weeping at the drop of a pin. So her only recourse was to stand proud until she was sure he was well and truly gone. Then she’d lift her skirts and stride coolly back to the tower.

  What she’d do then…

  Hopefully after a few hours’ sleep, she’d be able to decide next move.

  It was just a shame that her blue silk cloak now held his scent. Each breath brought him back to her, flooding her senses with shockingly vivid images. She was reminded of the hot glide of his hands on her naked flesh, his tongue tangling so provocatively with her own, until each scandalous memory spread ribbons of tingly heat low in her belly.

  She should no longer desire him.

  Guilt wound within her. He was her family’s most dread foe. This night he’d proved he was worthy of the worst slurs hurled after him.

  But when he smiled, his teeth flashing white in his roguish face…

  “Damn him.” Isobel felt the air around her hum with her annoyance.

  Who would’ve thought need and matters of the heart could be such a plague? A misery that clawed at tender places and made her head ache. Even the cool night air seemed unbearably hot. The back of her neck throbbed, the skin heating as if set afire.