Highland Knight

by Hannah Howell

  "Look at me, Avery,” Cameron demanded, not surprised to hear the husky thickness of his voice.

  It astonished Cameron to feel so keenly alive with need, his body throbbing with an unrelieved hunger. There was nothing about Avery Murray that should stir his desire. She was too slender, too impertinent, and too emotional. Yet he wanted her with a need stronger than he had ever felt before. The excuse that he had been celibate so long any female body would do, rang hollow in his ears. She called to something deep within him and he wanted to see if she felt any hint of the same. He already knew that her eyes revealed her feelings, and he was eager to look into them. The fact that she was pressing them closed so firmly her brow wrinkled only made him all the more determined.

  "Open your eyes, lass,” he ordered again.

  "I cannae,” she replied. “I have swooned from an excess of disgust."

  Cameron would have deeply felt the sting of that insult except for the fact that her voice was as thick and husky as his own. She was clearly going to be stubborn, however. A little subterfuge was definitely called for. He shifted a little, easing his weight off her body just slightly, and looked toward the door.

  "Ah, Donald,” he said, watching Avery closely, “why have ye brought the wee lass back here?"

  "Gillyanne?” Avery whispered, but, even as she opened her eyes to look, she knew she had been tricked. “Ye wretched, cunning bastard,” she muttered as he held her chin tightly, refusing to let her turn away from his gaze.

  Triumph sparked through Cameron's veins as he saw the way her eyes glowed with the heat of desire. They also glittered with fury, although he was not sure if she was angry at him or herself. He expected it was some of each. It was easy to understand that the very last thing little Avery Murray would wish to feel for him was passion. In truth, although he savored the depth of the desire he felt and looked forward to heartily feeding that hunger, he was a little dismayed himself. Such a fierce, swiftly fired passion could easily become a complication he did not need or want. It would not change his plans, but it might be wise to practice some caution.

  "Aye, that I am,” he agreed almost cheerfully. “I am also the mon ye desire. Why not just give in now, lass?"

  That display of mind-numbing arrogance nearly made Avery choke. Of course she desired him, although it galled her to admit it even to herself. He was an extraordinarily handsome man: tall, strong, and just a little dangerous. And there was a good chance that, as her brother Payton would so crudely put it, she was ripe. One also had to consider the possibility that the man was a very good kisser, skilled at turning a lass's mind to heated gruel. That he would even mention her mindless, traitorous desire for him or assume she would just give in without a whimper was what was so infuriating. Did he truly believe himself to be so compelling or her to be so weak?

  "Why dinnae ye just crawl back under that rock ye slithered out from?” she said in a voice so sweet that she was surprised it did not make her teeth ache.

  "And to think that is the same mouth I just tasted such a sweet welcome in."

  "Ye delude yourself."

  "Nay, but I think ye wish to delude yourself."

  Cameron rolled off her, fighting his reluctance to leave the warm softness of her body. He sprawled on his back and crossed his arms beneath his head. A small grin fleetingly shaped his mouth when he heard her shift as far away from him as the bed would allow. He noticed she did not get off.

  When he found himself regretting that he and little Avery had met under such circumstances, he cursed to himself. Those were dangerous thoughts. Not only could it make him hesitate in seeking justice and retribution, but he could easily begin to forget all that had made him choose celibacy. He had learned the hard lessons about the treachery of women, and he was not about to let some skinny lass with eyes like a cat make him forget them. He would soon end his long-endured celibacy, but he would never again let passion make him a fool.

  Avery settled herself so close to the edge of the bed that the smallest of movements could easily send her plummeting to the floor. She hoped Sir Cameron was not a restless sleeper. Sheltering her gaze beneath her lowered lashes, she looked at the man who so effortlessly set her blood afire.

  The dark look on his face made her frown. She did not really think he was sulking because she did not immediately succumb to his charms. In truth, she had given him an embarrassingly strong indication that she was very seducible. He should be looking annoyingly smug. Most men would be if they foresaw such an easy conquest. Instead, he looked as if he had just bitten into a very sour apple.

  Her eyes widened slightly as she wondered if he found the sudden passion that flared between them as worrisome as she did. It certainly frightened her, if only because of how he meant to use it against her. It was too strong, too overwhelming, thus very difficult to fight. For her it signaled possible defeat. For him it could do the same, if in a different way. Surely it would be difficult to keep his mind and heart fixed upon revenge if his desire ran too hot.

  For one brief moment, she contemplated using this fierce passion against him, trying to turn possible defeat into a weapon. Then she told herself not to be such a complete idiot. That sort of game required skill and knowledge, neither of which she had. Although she was not ignorant of what occurred between men and women and had even gathered a few facts from her brothers and cousins, she had not even kissed a man before this dark laird had captured her. A few practice kisses from her male cousins was the limit of her experience, and none of them had stoked a fire in her belly. Avery sighed and tried to get comfortable as she told herself to stay with her plan of hard resistance.

  "If ye dinnae wish to sleep now, we could always return to our previous game,” drawled Cameron.

  "I dinnae think so, fool,” she snapped. “I have a weak stomach."

  "Ye really should study your opponent more closely ere ye whet your tongue on his hide."

  "Is that a threat?"

  "It could be."

  "My, I am all a-tremble."

  "Dinnae push me too hard, lass."

  "Or what? Ye will hurt me?” She glared over her shoulder at him, a little pleased to catch the brief look of consternation on his face before he could hide it. “Ye have chained me, insulted my clan, and plan to dishonor me in some misguided attempt to avenge yourself against my brother. Pardon me if further threats and growls now fail to move me."

  Cameron stared at her straight, slender back. There really was nothing he could say to that hard truth, so he remained silent. As he closed his eyes, he decided he was going to have to think of some new way to intimidate the woman. He would give some long, hard thought to some more creative and alarming threats first thing in the morning.

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  Chapter Three

  "Avery!"

  Gillyanne's call was enough to distract Avery from glaring at Cameron's broad back as he walked away from her. Although she was pleased to see her little cousin so obviously hale and unafraid, it only lessened her fury a little. For two days she had been chained to the bed, and now she was tied around the wrists and lashed to his saddle. If this was how she was to be treated, by the time she got to Scotland she would probably not care if her clan came to Cairnmoor and slaughtered every last MacAlpin there. In fact, she would probably cheer them on.

  "Ye are weel, Gillyanne?” she asked her cousin, pleased to see the way Gillyanne glared at the ropes, then turned that look of fury upon Cameron. Even though the girl was too young and too small to help, it was nice to have someone on her side.

  "Aye,” Gillyanne replied. “The women coddle me, although they wouldnae let me come to see you ere now. I think they would do almost anything for me save go against Sir Cameron's orders. The men, too. Although none have said so directly to me, I did chance to overhear a few mutterings which revealed not all of his lairdship's people agree with his plan. They are all verra keen to make Payton suffer, however."

  "He didnae do it."

  "Ye need
not plead his innocence to me. I ken it. He was one of the few amongst our cousins and brothers who would ne'er e'en redden our backsides no matter how we lasses tormented him. A mon who willnae e'en do that when ye fill his fine boots with pig dung isnae a mon who would hurt any woman."

  Avery grinned. “So that was you, was it?"

  "Aye, his teasing had made me verra angry that day.” She briefly shared a laugh with Avery, then scowled at the rope around Avery's slender wrists. “How fare you?"

  "Weel enough. This enrages me,” Avery nodded at her bonds, “but see how he has wrapped silk about my wrists beneath the rope? For all his black looks and growling, ‘tis clear he will do his best not to really hurt me."

  "He means to seduce and shame you."

  "Aye, there is that. He hasnae done so yet, if that is what troubles you."

  "It did. Weel, all ye have to do is hold firm until our family can save us."

  So simple, Avery thought, and she sighed. Cameron took every chance he could to touch her, tease her senses, stir her with heated words, and steal kisses. The fact that she had little will to fight off those kisses worried her more than she could say. At the moment, only her fury over being chained or tied gave her the strength to push him away. If Cameron ceased to bind her, that anger could lessen, and thus so would her ability to fight the temptation of the man.

  "I will tell ye true, cousin, I am nay sure I can fight for that long.” She smiled sadly at Gillyanne's look of shock.

  Gillyanne cleared her throat and said, “He is a verra handsome mon."

  "Oh, aye, verra handsome, though he is as dark as sin. And sin is what he tempts me to."

  "Ye are nearly nineteen. Ye must have been tempted before and turned aside from it."

  "Nay, I fear not."

  "Do ye love him?"

  "Gillyanne, the mon has chained me to a bed, tied me to his horse, and wants to use me to strike a hard blow at my family and drag poor Payton into a marriage he does not want. I would be a fool to love him."

  "Not completely. He is wrong, but he does nay more than many another would do, believing what he does. And, ‘tis clear he willnae wrest what he wants from you. So, if nay love, then ye are in lust."

  "It would seem I am.” She echoed Gillyanne's sigh.

  Gillyanne patted Avery on the shoulder. “Ye can only do your best. I willnae fault ye if ye weaken. And considering how often our brothers and cousins weaken, they would deserve a sound thrashing if they faulted you.” She shared a brief grin with Avery, then grew serious again. “'Twould seem to me that ye must fight as hard as ye can, but dinnae fret if ye lose the fight. Mayhap ye may e'en find a way to take the sting out of the reasons why he means to bed you. And, we both ken that, some day, he will learn that his sister has lied."

  "Aye, and then he will wish to do the honorable thing,” Avery grumbled.

  "Weel, if by then ye are in love as weel as in lust, ‘twould nay be such a bad thing."

  "It would depend upon what else he felt. Ah, and the brute returns."

  Cameron caught the identical glares the two small Murray females gave him and nearly grinned. They had more spirit than some men he knew. If they but had the strength and height of a man, he would be in very serious trouble. Both of them looked far too eager to hurt him.

  "Go back to the women,” he ordered Gillyanne, and he bit back a laugh over the way she muttered some very colorful curses as she obeyed him. “When that lass finishes growing, she will cause some mon a great deal of trouble."

  "Good,” Avery said. “She will be a rich prize, and one should ne'er get one of those too easily."

  "As easily as I got you?"

  "True, I was tossed at your feet. Ye gained the weapon to use against my family verra easily indeed. Howbeit, ye will have to fight long and hard to wield it."

  "Will I?"

  He stepped closer, caging her between himself and his mount. The nearness of her was enough to heat his blood. If he read the flicker of warmth in her beautiful eyes correctly, it was enough to stir her as well. He prayed he was reading that look right.

  The last betrayal he had suffered, the one that had caused him to retreat from the game of love, had left him uncertain of his ability to judge women. He had thought, in all his former arrogance, that he could read a woman's heart, could know that he and he alone stirred her desire. Time and time again he had found, not love, but faithlessness and betrayal, until it no longer shocked or surprised him, until he found himself turning his back on all women. What made his doubts even stronger now was the fact that Avery Murray was not like any other woman he knew. Was that heat in her eyes desire, or the urge to gut him like a pig? In Avery's case, he suspected it could easily be a bit of both.

  "Aye, my bonny-faced cur, ye will,” she snapped, furious with the weakness he had exposed within her—that blind, unthinking response of her body to his.

  "And yet ye are already compelled to tantalize me with sweet flatteries."

  Avery was torn between an urge to laugh and one to slam her knee into his groin. The urge to laugh was what troubled her, almost as much as her errant passions did. Humor, subtle or raucous, tart or sweet, had always appealed to her. She did not need anything else about the man to appeal to her. Before she could turn that anger against herself on him and assault him with a few harsh opinions, however, he tossed her up into the saddle and gracefully mounted behind her.

  Cameron had barely nudged his mount into motion when Avery realized this was going to be a torturous journey. His big, strong body was pressed hard against her back. She was nestled between his thighs like a lover. His long arms encircled her as he grasped the reins. It was an embrace, and one she would have to suffer for hours at a time. Each movement of his horse caused their bodies to rub together in some way. They had barely ridden out of the gates of the DeVeau keep before she began to suffer from the potent effects of his nearness.

  She tried to pull away. He pulled her back, holding her close in a firm yet painless grip. She tried to remain stiff, unyielding, but not only did that make her uncomfortable, it made her seat so precarious she could easily send them both tumbling out of the saddle. The image of Cameron gracelessly falling off his horse and sprawling in the mud was a pleasant one, but she could not ignore the danger to herself. She was lashed to the saddle by a rope that also bound her wrists together. She could all too easily join him in his fall and find herself dragged along the ground by a panicked mount. That would certainly steal some of the joy out of Cameron's humiliation, she thought, almost smiling at her own fanciful musings.

  "I am glad to see ye are in a better mood,” Cameron said, catching the glimpse of a smile on her face.

  "Aye, I was just thinking of how fine ye would look facedown in the mud,” she replied sweetly.

  He quickly altered a chuckle into a cough. The woman needed no encouragement of her audacity. Despite the softness of the body pressed close to his, he realized there was finely honed steel shaping that delicate backbone. Even if he was right about the desire he could stir within her, she was right to say he faced a long, hard battle to gain anything from it. Cameron mused that, even if he brought her to her knees with the sharp ache of wanting, she would probably just try to crawl away.

  "If I fall, ye fall with me,” he said, not sure he meant just a tumble from his horse.

  "I ken it. ‘Tis why I willnae try to kick ye out of the saddle."

  "Such admirable restraint."

  "I thought so. Ye are keeping a close watch on your back, arenae ye?"

  "Aye, e'en though ye are weaponless and in front of me."

  "I meant, are ye watching for the DeVeaux? ‘Twould nay surprise me if the murdering oafs tried to take back the blood money they paid you. Or decided they didnae want ye talking about all ye saw and did whilst in their keep."

  "So, ye worry about my safety now."

  "Such vanity. My wee cousin rides with us. I should like to see her get back to Scotland unharmed. And,” she added in a hard voice,
“if anyone is to gut ye, ‘tis I who should have that privilege."

  "Ye are a hard woman, Avery Murray.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, then abruptly asked, “Why do ye so hate the DeVeaux?"

  "They are murdering swine. They may have left many of my kinsmen dead."

  "Mayhap, but I think the hatred ye bear them is an old one, born long before this most recent crime."

  For a moment Avery contemplated telling him it was none of his business, but only for a moment. The long feud between the DeVeaux and the Lucettes was no closely guarded secret. Neither was the trouble the DeVeaux had caused her family in the past. The telling of the tale might even insure that the DeVeaux never had a MacAlpin sword on their side again, no matter how rich a purse was offered, and that could only be a good thing. She was heartily glad that, for whatever reasons, Cameron and his men had not been part of this latest treachery.

  "It began with my mother,” she replied, “although the DeVeaux had not always left my kinsmen in peace before that. Nay, they have always preyed upon the weaker, those with less might and coin. For peace and gain, my mother was forced into marriage with Lord Michael DeVeau despite all the dark things said about him. All those dark tales were truth. He was a beast, brutal and completely faithless. One night my mother found him mutilated and with his throat cut. She ran."

  "Why? Did she do it?"

  Avery could hear no condemnation in his voice. Although she had not described the true horror of her mother's first marriage, what little she had said was obviously enough. So, too, would Cameron have some knowledge of what the DeVeau men were like.

  "Nay,” she answered, “though she kenned all would think she had. She had threatened such dire acts. No one would heed her about the horrors of her marriage, and she had often said she would end the torment herself if need be. My father helped her flee to Scotland. She had already been running and hiding for a year all on her own. ‘Twas finally shown that others had done the murder to avenge a woman he had brutalized, and my mother was finally free. The hatreds were set firm by then, however. The marriage didnae bring peace but intensified the feud, and not all of the DeVeaux believe Mother is really innocent. Mayhap they dinnae really care, just wish to have someone to hate and fight with."