“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 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 her 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 to 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 he 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-white skin.
There was also a shadowy hint of nipple, so tempting in 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 dark, oh-so-wickedly luscious nipples.
“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 and her face set in her most controlled, unaffected mien. 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…
She hoped that after a few hours’ sleep, she’d be able to decide her 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 dreaded 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.
It was all most terrible.
And yet…
Even when his face had hardened so fiercely and he’d called her a liar, she’d still found him the most shamelessly appealing man she’d ever seen.
Isobel resisted the urge to scowl.
Instead she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She remained still, listening. Her ears caught no sound except wind soughing through the pines, the soft tumbling of a nearby burn, and from farther away, on the other side of Castle Haven, the muffled roar of the falls that spilled down a gorge in one of the higher peaks. Not even the cracking of a twig broke the night quiet.
She was alone.
And now that she was, she wanted nothing more than to return to her bed, pull the covers over her head, and sleep long and dreamlessly.
So determined, she started forward, certain that no day in her life had ever been, at turns, so wildly perfect and perfectly horrid.
“Now you see your folly.” Kendrew’s deep voice came from behind her. He gripped her elbow, preventing escape. “The danger you ignore.”
“Gah!” Isobel jumped.
“How easily I surprised you.” He tightened his fingers on her arm. “Did you ne’er hear that the men of Nought are aye one with the shadows? Such talk is true.” His tone held pride, his arrogance palpable. “I could have you over my shoulder and gone from here by now if I’d wished.”
“So you are the threat?” She deliberately mistook his meaning.
“There are others with night-walking skills.” He was close, his breath warming her nape, tickling strands of her hair. “But no one does it better than me.”
“I see.” She turned to face him as slowly as she could, dignity demanding she not spin about. She ignored the leaping of her pulse, the fast, uneven beating of her heart. She hadn’t heard a twig snap. He couldn’t be standing right in front of her.
But he was.
And although she wouldn’t have believed it possible, he looked angrier than he had earlier. His brows were down-drawn and a muscle twitched in his jaw. In truth, he appeared almost murderous.
Isobel kept her gaze on his face, trying not to blink. “Should I fear you or those other night-walkers?”
“Any man would be a threat to you, running about as you are.” Eyes narrowing, he flicked a glance over her. “Are you no’ aware that your gown is undone? That a man”—his gaze lingered on her breasts—“loses his wits when faced with such temptation?”
“Is that why you came back?” She glanced down. Her bodice had come open, the laces loose and allowing the edges of her gown to gape wide. The white rounds of her breasts were plainly visible, her nipples wholly uncovered. Worse, her nipples were drawn tight and straining against the cold night air, almost as if they sought attention.
“No’ to ogle you, my lady.” He gave her a smile that was anything but warm. “You needed to see how easily you could be taken.”
“No one has ever bothered me until you.” Isobel yanked her bodice together and started fastening the laces. Unfortunately, Kendrew’s steady perusal unnerved her so greatly that her fingers shook and she couldn’t tie the ribbons properly.
She did manage to make two knots.
Her breasts pressed against the taut ribbons, the knots cutting into soft flesh. And—she wanted to sink into the ground—her nipples thrust even more now, pointing straight at Kendrew.
She risked a glance at his face and wasn’t surprised to see his expression had darkened, his gaze still locked onto her breasts’ straining peaks.
“Now see what you have done.” His voice was deep, roughened with desire.
Isobel swallowed, recognizing the tone from the revels. His eyes smoldered, his jaw hard set as he drew a dirk from beneath his belt. Then, without taking his gaze off her bosom, he sliced the knotted ribbons.
“There.” He shoved the dagger back into its sheath and stepped away from her. “You’ll have to hold the gown together until you get back to the tower and reach your quarters. If you dinnae…”
He let the words trail away, not needing to finish.
His meaning burned the air between them. The way his eyes gleamed in the dimness told her everything. It was a look that made her heart beat faster and everything female in her prickle with excitement.
And he knew it.
“You’d best cover yourself.” He sounded pained. “You’ve two good hands, by Thor. Put them o’er your breasts. Now.”
Isobel did. She splayed one hand over her breasts and used the other to clutch the edges of her bodice. But as soon as she touched her fingers to the welling curves, his scowl deepened. Wheeling about, he turned his back to her. Then he ran a hand through his hair and tipped back his head,
glaring up at the heavens.
“Begone, Lady Isobel.” He flung out an arm, pointing in the direction of Castle Haven. “This moment, lest I—”
“Do what?” Isobel couldn’t believe her daring as she stepped around him. Ignoring his outthrust arm, she eyed him up and down. “Shall you turn into the Berserker everyone says you are?”
“Have a care, lass.” He shook his head, slowly. “You dinnae want to provoke me.”
She did.
She’d gone too far to retreat. He’d accused her of speaking falsely. She needed to show him that he was a liar, denying their attraction. Challenging him was all that remained to do. This was war and her weapons were…
“Provoke you?” She stepped closer, her pulse quickening as his heady male scent swirled around her. Virile, earthy, and just a bit dangerous, the hints of clean, cold air, wood smoke, and man thrilled her. She hoped that her scent, essence of spring violets, would prove as irresistible to him. Her unbound hair and state of dishevelment should also work in her favor, fuddling his wits.
He’d already implied the possibility.
“Perhaps…” She tilted her head, taking advantage. “I would enjoy seeing you go Viking. Or”—she let her gaze flick over him again—“are you not as wild as one hears?”
“You tread dangerously, lady.” A muscle in his jaw jumped, proving it. “ ‘Go Viking’ is what Norse raiders did when they assaulted our coasts and isles, as well you know, I vow. A Berserker’s rage was nothing of the kind.”
He leaned toward her, his voice a growl. “Their fury was a terrible thing. As is mine, be warned.”
“Oh, I am.” Isobel resisted the urge to lift up on her toes and kiss him.
He was that close.
And his anger was building, his clenched hands white-knuckled now.
“You are”—he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her against him, his grip fierce—“the most infernal, pestiferous lady I have ever known!”
Isobel felt a surge of triumph, her entire body coming alive. Her heart hammered, beating crazily in her chest, victory so sweet.
“I would prefer lady of spirit.” She circled her arms around his shoulders, hoping to prove her point. “You, too, should beware. Norse blood also runs in my veins. I am just as fearless as you.”
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel Page 8
