Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  She failed miserably.

  “Norse gods?” Kendrew laughed and shook his head. “They make mischief. And they make merry.” His lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile. “Erring isn’t in their nature. They see and know all. It’s no good thing to ignore their wisdom.” He stepped closer, his body almost touching hers. “We daren’t offend them.”

  Isobel met his gaze, aware of the implication behind his words.

  He wanted her.

  And he meant for them to enjoy the same wild and uninhibited carnality going on throughout the narrow vale, beyond the wall of mist and the shielding bulk of Slag’s Mound where couples whirled and danced around the bonfires. And then—she knew—they fell in a tangle of arms and legs onto the cold, stony ground, mating furiously.

  That was what he wished to do with her.

  He could mean nothing else.

  “Oh, dear.” Isobel’s nerves surfaced, unwelcome and annoying, but there all the same.

  He gripped her chin then, his gaze piercing. “You tempt me greatly, Isobel of the Ambers. I’d have you here and now, before Odin and in the shadow of Slag’s Mound.”

  He slid his thumb back and forth over her lower lip, softly. The caress sent shocking waves of pleasure spilling through her, hot and sweet. He arched a brow, clearly waiting for her consent. For all his roguishness, no one denied how much he respected women. He’d go no further unless she indicated that she wanted more.

  And she did.

  Guilt lanced her. Gently bred women weren’t supposed to feel lust. But she’d felt such a strong physical attraction to him since the trial by combat. Even more powerfully, his boldness drew her. His Norse blood proved irresistible. They shared so much.

  He was a man like no other.

  And the look on his face as he touched her lip so gently was making her burst with longing.

  Isobel shivered, knowing she was lost. “Yes…”

  She let her voice trail off, not quite brave enough to put such wanton desires into plain words. He surely knew what she meant.

  Proving it, he grinned. “Then come here.” He pulled her close, so near that she was crushed to his hard-muscled body. Sweeping a hand down her back, he splayed his fingers over the curve of her bottom, drawing her against him. She felt his arousal now, his hardness pressing sensitive places, stirring need within her. “Let me kiss you.”

  “Then do.” Her voice was stronger this time, his touch melting her. He traced her jaw with his thumb and her skin warmed there, tiny shivers slipping down her neck and lower. She gazed up at him, her breath catching at the fierce desire in his eyes.

  “Och, I will kiss you and more. This is a night to amuse the gods, and ourselves.” The red glow from the bonfires glinted in his rich auburn hair and made the heavy gold of the Thor’s hammer at his neck gleam brightly. He’d never looked more wild, or so appealing.

  “I want you, lass.” He stroked her cheek. “Ne’er you worry.”

  “I’m not worried.” She wasn’t.

  She was excited. The sensations she felt gathering inside her, heady and delicious.

  He looked down at her, his broad shoulders blocking out the high peaks behind him, narrowing the world to just the two of them. “That’s good, because we’re about to set fire to the heavens.”

  Isobel blinked.

  Kendrew grinned, the laughter lines at the corners of his blue eyes deepening. “We’ll light a blaze to warm the mead halls of Valhalla.”

  Isobel’s heart flipped. “Valhalla, yes…”

  Then, somehow, she found herself backed against the high, stone-built cairn, his hands braced on either side of her head as his mouth descended, slanting roughly over hers. His kiss was hot, deep, and bruising. Her entire body caught flame and she twined her arms around his shoulders, thrusting her fingers into his hair. She needed and wanted him so much. Her heart beat faster, blood thrumming in her veins as she parted her lips, letting his tongue plunge deep to tangle with hers in a kiss more heated than her dreams.

  Somewhere near—or distant, it was hard to tell—a great rumbling of stone shook the earth, the low, thundery sound echoing along the stark and jagged cliffs hemming the rock-strewn vale.

  “Dear saints!” Isobel froze, her eyes flying wide.

  Tremors rippled through the ground and even the polished silver sky seemed to quiver. Around them, the swirling smoke and mist eddied, caught in an unseen wind as the stone-thunder slowly faded.

  Kendrew broke the kiss, sweeping her up in his arms and turning away from the cairn. “See there”—he looked down at her, his smile flashing—“the dreagans are taken with you, Isobel of the Ambers. That was their roar just now, praising your beauty.”

  Isobel smiled. “I thought they didn’t exist?”

  “Who is to say?” He shrugged away a more direct answer. “Though”—he bent to kiss her brow—“I’ll no’ have you frightened. More like, thon rumble was a bit o’ rock rolling down the brae.”

  “I’d say a landslide.” Isobel glanced at the cliffs, so dark and brooding.

  “Aye,” Kendrew agreed, then fell silent as he followed her gaze. Another frown touched his brow, but briefly, disappearing almost faster than she’d noticed. “Falling rock is no’ uncommon here.”

  Isobel shivered. The air was cold and damp now, and…

  Somehow her bodice laces had come undone. Her gown gaped wide, open to her waist. Night wind kissed her skin, raising chill bumps. Kendrew was pulling her sleeves down from her shoulders and freeing her arms, releasing them from her gown’s constraints. His plaid was still in place, the red-based tartan bright against the whirling mist. The contrast made her feel even more vulnerable.

  “Oh…” She forgot all about rock-thunder.

  “Odin, but you’re lovely.” Appreciation shone in Kendrew’s eyes, his gaze devouring her. “Let me look at you, see the bounty the gods have sent me.”

  “You are looking.” Isobel could feel her face coloring.

  “So I am.” He didn’t deny it.

  He did snatch up what looked like a black-furred blanket and tossed it over his arm, the dark pelt cooled by the night’s chill.

  Isobel knew why he’d grabbed the fur and the knowledge slammed through her. Anticipation made her heart pound. Her emotions unraveled, whirling until nothing mattered except his strong arms holding her and the way he kept lowering his head to kiss her hair. He rubbed his face against the side of her neck, breathing deep as if he were scenting her, perhaps savoring her taste.

  Her skin prickled at the scintillating thought. Stunning expectation beat through her, shivery warmth that lit across her nerves and caused a languorous, weighty sensation deep inside her.

  She almost forgot to breathe.

  He smoothed back her hair, leaning down to nip at the soft hollow beneath her ear. Slow, tight heat wound through the lowest part of her belly, making her tremble. She caught her lip, certain she’d never felt anything quite so wondrous, so tantalizing.

  He grinned. “I could eat you whole, be warned. I’d start at the top of your head and make my way down to your sweet, wee toes, tasting every place in between. The gods know I’m tempted.” He slung the fur over his arm and started down the side of the cairn, his strides sure as he crossed the stony ground.

  Isobel darted a look at the blanket. Wicked images of them naked and entwined on the dark-glistening fur flashed across her mind.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t feel a shiver of shame.

  She did have to tamp down her doubts. A well-lusted man, Kendrew’s blood likely heated for any comely female. Attracting him hadn’t been hard. Pleasing him once he started kissing her again, when he’d no doubt pull her tight against the hard, masculine length of his body, and if—she darted another look at the fur—they were to lie down together, pressed skin to naked skin…

  That was a different matter.

  She didn’t want to disappoint him.

  “My bearskin,” he spoke then, catching her glance at the pelt. “N
o maid has ever lain upon its fur.” His gaze raked her breasts, his expression so heated she would’ve sworn liquid flames were bathing her. “Not till you, this night.

  “You make me burn for you.” He stopped before a patch of heather, sheltered by the cairn. His eyes darkened as he looked at her. Then he tossed the bearskin onto the ground and lowered his head to kiss her, still holding her clutched tight in his arms.

  This kiss was just as roughly demanding as before, hot, hungry, and crushing. Full of tongue and breath, it was also shockingly intimate because he swept a hand across her breasts, rubbing and squeezing, as he plundered her mouth. He took her nipples between his thumb and fingers, rolling and pulling the tightened peaks. She arched in his arms as sensation raced through her, the pleasure almost too intense.

  “That’s my lass…” He was palming her now, his big, calloused hand so sweet against her skin. He kept kissing her, his heady male scent flooding her senses, making her dizzy. His tongue was masterful, sliding and dancing with hers, coaxing her to respond.

  And she did. She even rocked her hips, giving herself up to the ancient, time-honored needs welling inside her. Womanly cravings that urged her on to the heated, carnal bliss she knew only he could give her. Powerful yearnings that felt so natural, that all her inhibitions spun away, leaving only raw, aching desire.

  He set her on her feet and pushed the hair back from her shoulders. “Sweet lass, what have you done to me?” Pulling her close, he kissed her face and her throat. Then he swept lower, dragging bold, urgent kisses across the top swells of her breasts, grazing her nipples with his teeth. “You turn my head as no other.”

  “I am glad.” She plunged her fingers into his hair, holding him against her breasts, melting when he swirled his tongue across her nipples.

  Somewhere stones rumbled again, but the sound was more distant this time, muffled by the thickening mist rolling down from the higher mountains.

  Still…

  Isobel shivered, a flicker of ill ease slipping down her spine.

  Kendrew didn’t seem to notice.

  Instead, he dropped to his knees on the bearskin and pulled her into his arms, lowering her back against the pelt. Heavy mist drifted between them and Slag’s Mound. Almost impenetrable, the fog hovered, blotting the cairn and the other strange outcroppings from view.

  Now was Isobel’s chance.

  She reached for him. “Please.” She spoke boldly, hoping he’d be fast and eager so he wouldn’t notice her purity before it was too late.

  “Och, I’ll please you, Isobel-lass.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, nibbling the flesh beneath her thumb. Then he laced her fingers with his and raised her arm above her head, looking down at her in a way that set her blood to racing.

  “My only wish is to pleasure you.” He leaned over her, his eyes dark as he slid his free hand down her side and lower, gripping the hem of her gown and pulling it upward, baring her legs.

  “This night and”—his hand slipped between her thighs, cupping her neediest place, squeezing—“mayhap a few more nights if you’ll stay.”

  Isobel stiffened, his words reminding her that he still believed she was a light-skirt from Rannoch Moor. But he was moving his fingers over her most intimate place. And the thrilling tingles rushing over her chased the worries from her mind. His touch seared her, giving her breathless, almost dizzying pleasure.

  “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 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 a 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 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, no
t 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 leaped 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, too. “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. Nor”—he was scowling now—“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.”