by Sabrina York
“Och. Was there a point?” For all that she was the cleverer of the two, Elise never shared her brilliance in a timely manner, which was exasperating indeed.
“There were two verra good points.” She held up one finger. “Kirk Rannoch is a verra handsome man.” And another finger. “He’s the brother of the man you are betrothed to marry…against your will.”
“Aye.” Both things were obvious to anyone who was paying attention.
A third finger popped up. “And Kirk clearly fancies you.”
Kate lurched back. “He most certainly does no’!”
Elise arched a brow. She was well practiced at the pithily arched brow. “I’ve been watching.”
“So?”
“I’ve been watching all morning. You should see how he looks at you.”
“Pfft.”
“Och, Kate. Such humility does not become you.” A dimple winked in her cheek with her saucy grin.
Kate bristled. “So he is a handsome man. So he finds me comely—”
“You forgot the most important part. He is the brother of your betrothed. And he believes you are my maid.” Her expression made clear she expected Kate to understand. That was exasperating as well.
“And?”
Elise blew out a sigh. “Honestly. Do you no’ understand?”
“Nae.”
“If we canna escape from these men, they will take us to Rannoch, and you will marry the Beast.”
“I am aware of that.”
“But what if…what if you allowed Kirk to seduce you?”
Kate stilled and she stared at her sister, but not in shock at the suggestion, not as she should have reacted. Rather, those words had sent a scorching ribbon of excitement through her. It filled her mind with visions—visions of him and her, together, entwined.
They were most inappropriate visions, but she had a difficult time evicting them. They lingered, wrapping around her heart and soul and igniting some arcane and unfamiliar ache.
“Wh-what nonsense.”
Ah, but it wasn’t nonsense. It was a delightful prospect, as outrageous as it was. And when Elise spoke again, the unthinkable became…not so unthinkable after all. “What would happen if the brother of your betrothed despoiled you?”
Oh, God in heaven above. Elise’s scheme blossomed like a flower in her chest. She glanced at Kirk, who was brushing down his mount. His muscles rippled with every move. Good glory.
“The Beast would repudiate me,” she whispered. “He would have to.”
“Exactly. Just think of it.”
Oh, she would. She did.
What a delicious thought.
Not simply to thwart the duke’s plan for her—as heinous as it was—but to have…Kirk. To know what it would be like to kiss him, to run her hands over those bulging muscles, to have him cover her in passion…
He was unlike any man she’d ever met. Not simply in his physical magnificence, but in the fact that he was kind to her and gentle and, judging from his tentative advances, would not be overbearing or cruel should she welcome his attention.
She’d always dreamed of a man like that, but had known it would not be her fate—not with Killin’s plans for her.
And here it was, the opportunity not only to have such a man, but to escape her wretched future.
Most important, an opportunity to choose for herself.
That in itself was a seductive thought.
It was more seductive than scuttling a marriage to the Beast. More alluring than thwarting the political schemes of men of power who cared little for the women who were destined to suffer. Better than the thrill at the thought of bedding a glorious man.
She would be able to choose her fate.
It was a gift from God few women were given.
It would be a sin to reject it.
Chapter 7
Kirk was unsure why wee Ann was staring across the clearing at him with that dewy look in her eye, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. Her attention set a fire in his belly that nearly consumed him.
It had been exquisite torment holding her in his arms all morning. Her delicious bottom had rubbed against him with every step of his mount and his cock stood high for most of the day.
Generally he was a man who could control his mind and body, especially when on a mission for his laird. But with Ann’s attention on him, with that contemplative look in her eye and the slight quirk of her lips, he was lost. Visions of them, tangled together, possessed him.
How did she taste? How would she respond to his kiss? Would she be a wild one in bed, or would it be a demure and sweet submission?
“Shall we move on?” Brodie asked, giving him a nudge.
“What?” Called back to the situation at hand, Kirk frowned. “Aye.”
“It looks like rain is coming.” Brodie glanced at the darkening horizon. “Perhaps we can outride it.”
“Aye.” Had it been only he and Brodie, the rain would not have been an issue. They would have pulled their plaids up over their heads and kept going. But with ladies in their company, it was a different situation altogether.
With little ado, the party mounted up once more and set off, this time at a faster pace.
And was it his imagination or did Ann allow herself to lean against him more fully? Och, nae. She turned to the side—rather than facing forward—and curled herself against him, setting her palm on his thigh for purchase as the horse trotted along the path.
Her palm on his thigh. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
He tried valiantly to ignore it, to focus on the road ahead, but could not. It was probably wrong of him to take the reins in one hand and set the other to her hip to steady her. True, she required no steadying. But lord, it was delicious, cupping that delightful curve.
That she murmured and nestled closer in response made his vision blur.
He was so besotted, so befuddled—by her scent, her touch, the barely perceptible movement of her fingers against his breeches—that he failed to notice the storm was catching them. The first fat raindrop fell on his head with a splat, causing him to glance up.
Shite.
He scanned the horizon and spotted Ben Lawers in the distance where he and Brodie had camped on the way to Killin Keep. The small hollows pocking the mountain would offer some shelter for the women. He called to Brodie, motioning in that direction, and his friend nodded.
They set off at a gallop. Ann cried out at the sudden lurch and threw her arms around him.
“No’ to worry, my wee lass,” he whispered in her ear as he tightened his hold on her. And, ach, he loved the look she gave him, wide eyed and trusting. She made him feel powerful and fearless, a man who could protect her from all harm.
Which, of course, he was.
Pity he could not protect her from the rain when the sky opened up and drenched them. He took a moment to pull his plaid around her, to wrap her in a woolen cocoon, but the rain was relentless and quickly soaked them through. Yet with their bodies pressed together, with their heat sealed by the plaid, they remained warm enough.
Kirk held her tight and galloped across the lea toward the tor. He knew it was there, though he could no longer see it. The rain had blinded him. He’d lost sight of Brodie and Katherine as well, but that didn’t worry him, as he knew they’d find each other as soon as the storm passed.
In fact, he found this situation rather pleasant. He and Ann were together, as though alone in the world, she in his arms, clinging to him.
His complacency was shattered when the first lightning bolt hit. It was far too close, and sent a sizzle through his body. All the hairs on his arms stood up on end.
A second later the thunderclap rocked the meadow. He kicked at his horse’s flanks and leaned forward, urging Ann to do the same. They had to move quickly. With no trees to speak of, they were the tallest point in the field and the most likely target for the next deadly bolt.
His lungs locked, his heart pounded, and the rain dripping from his head mingled w
ith a cold sweat. He had to get her to shelter. Now.
He ran a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his vision. But as soon as he wiped the rain away, more pummeled him. Finally, he saw the looming mass of the tor. He scanned the base of it for an outcropping that would serve as shelter.
Tremendous relief whipped through him as he spotted something. Through the steamy fog and misty curtain caused by the deluge, he couldn’t be certain how large it was, but it would have to be enough. He pointed his horse in that direction and prayed they would reach it before he and Ann were ended by a scorching bolt of terror from the sky.
Chapter 8
It was a glorious ride. Kate wanted to throw out her arms, turn her face to the downpour, and revel in the moment. Racing across the lea with Kirk, warm and strong behind her, was magnificent.
She’d always loved storms and the savage beauty of nature. It made her feel one with the world. Alive. But there had never been a more exhilarating tempest than this.
She could taste the acrid scent of lightning on her tongue, feel the crackle of its energy in her hair. Danger stalked them, and it excited her.
But something else did, too.
An enormous, muscled man held her tightly, breathing against her neck in harsh pants. The movement of their bodies against each other created a friction as they rode in union. The damp heat of the plaid conjoined them and an earthy scent rose between them.
Ah, it was splendid.
It was nearly a disappointment when it ended, when he slowed and guided the horse to an outcropping protruding from the rocky tor.
And then, he slid from the horse, leaving her alone and suddenly cold. When she frowned at him as he reached up for her, he stilled. “Are you all right, lassie?”
“Aye,” she said, setting her hands on his broad shoulders and allowing him to ease her down. Lord, he was large. So hard and strong. So…tantalizing with his fierce expression. She didn’t bother to hide her shudder.
“You’re freezing,” he said in a low, feral growl.
She was not. She was on fire.
The thrill of the manic ride, the exhilaration of their near disaster, and the pure elation of life and living pulsed in her veins. Which was why she stepped toward him, rather than stepping away. Why she reached up and cupped his nape. Why she tugged him down and whispered, “You saved me.”
And she kissed him.
Surely she intended it only to be a kiss of gratitude, one of pure and simple thanks. It was meant to be quick and passionless and chaste.
Perhaps she had been deluding herself, because she fiercely wanted, to the depth of her being, to taste him.
Glory. It was a mind-numbing kiss. It began as a brush of her lips against his. But then, transfixed by the flavor of his breath, the velvet caress of his mouth, she lingered. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tightened. She eased closer and sealed them together from chest to groin.
Though he allowed this familiarity, she could tell he was resisting the urge to kiss her back. His muscles bunched, he arched away.
The thought annoyed her, so she tipped her head and deepened the kiss, pressing her tongue between his lips.
He made a sound, something like a groan, and he broke the kiss completely.
In a rush, he whipped her into his embrace and backed her against the wall. She loved his power, the heat of his muscles, his raging passion. But even more, she loved that he did not give rein to his savagery.
Even now, as he consumed her in a series of hungry kisses, he held back. Refrained from crushing her against the granite tor.
With a growl, he reared back and stared at her. “Lass, you tempt me,” he said in a gravelly tone.
She tried to hold back her smile, and failed.
“We canna do this.”
Ah, her mood plummeted. And the least of her despair was her plot to scuttle the wedding to his brother. Her body hummed with a desire she’d never experienced before. It was a soul-deep yearning. A need.
To her surprise, he chuckled, and that irked her. “What is so funny?” she snapped. Did he not know how she ached?
“Lass, lass.” He stroked her hair and cupped her cheek in an attempt to soothe her. She scowled at him. He would have to do better than that. Yet what did he do? He chuckled again and pulled her into his arms, though she remained stiff. “I have work to do first,” he murmured. He said this in a teasing tone, one that indicated there would indeed be more kissing. More of…everything.
“Work?” It was hard to hide her smile, but she did, making her expression one of somber rebuke.
“Aye, lass. I willna take you on a bed of stones. And the horse must be hobbled and fed. And a fire would no’ go amiss.”
Oh, a fire sounded wonderful.
Perhaps she could allow him to do those things before kissing her again. She nodded. “Fine. But be quick about it.”
His lips quirked as he headed for his mount, pulling off the saddle and rifling around in his bags. He tossed her a wool tunic. “You should change out of your damp clothing,” he said. “I doona want you to become ill.”
Kate nearly snorted. She was hardly a wilting flower, but she didn’t mind if he thought so. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She nodded and followed the curve of the outcropping, where she found a cave jutting into the body of the mountain. It was not large—certainly not large enough for the horse—but it was wide enough for two pallets. She quickly changed into his dry tunic—and, och, it carried his scent—and then began gathering small sticks and branches from the cave floor. It was clear this cavern had been used for shelter before. Thankfully, there was enough fuel for her to start a small fire. She laid out her dress nearby, hoping it would dry before morning. She could hardly wear his tunic forever, although it was soft and warm and smelled divine.
Kirk came to find her and his eyes widened when he saw her. Something in them glimmered. It might have been admiration for her resourcefulness, but most likely, it was the fact that she was wearing naught but his tunic, which only came to her knees. It was quite indecent, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind.
“This plaid is still dry,” he said, laying it out on the ground. “And I’ve brought some cheese and ale, if you would like some.”
She nodded, and stepped closer. Though her hunger was for something else, her belly was empty. And at any rate, it made sense to shore up her strength.
She fully intended to seduce Kirk Rannoch tonight and she had no idea how much effort such an undertaking might require.
It was something she had never done before…and dearly wanted to try.
Chapter 9
Heavens above, she was lovely, standing there in the firelight and gazing up at him with those bewitching green eyes.
Kirk had suffered from an extreme and unrelenting arousal all day. He’d passed the time surreptitiously stroking her body and imagining what he might do with her when he got her alone. And now, thanks to providence, he had her alone.
And he had no idea where to begin.
Not that he was an untried lad. He was not.
It was simply that he wanted to make this wonderful for Ann, and the circumstances did not bode well for his success. They were in a cold cave, which opened to a storm still raging outside. They had naught but a thin plaid to separate them from the ground and, if he knew women and their kisses—and he did—she was a virgin.
Not that her kiss hadn’t been divine. It had been. But he’d tasted her inexperience.
Fortunately, he’d tasted her enthusiasm as well.
He decided the best approach would be to take things slowly. So he’d sat on the plaid, laid out the food, and then patted the spot by his side. She’d sat next to him and curled her legs beneath her, covering them with his tunic. And then she glanced at him.
Och, he should never have met her gaze. All thoughts of food or slow, sweet seduction fled. One thought remained. The desire to kiss her again.
He leaned toward her a
nd gently curled a lock of her red hair behind her ear and then, unable to resist, he stroked her cheek. “You’re so bonnie, wee Ann,” he said, and then he touched his lips to hers.
To his surprise, she reared back. “Please stop calling me wee,” she said in a disgruntled tone.
“You are wee.”
“Nae. You are…large.” Her gaze flicked over him and settled just below his waist, leaving no doubt as to her meaning. Or her interest.
Lust shot through him like a forest fire and without thought, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He knew he should not be so bold. He knew he should allow her to make the first move, but he couldn’t restrain himself.
He covered her mouth with his, eased her onto the plaid, and laid his body on top of hers.
Ah, she was sweet and soft beneath him. Her flesh was supple and giving. He held her still as he ate at her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. Her skin was delicious and warm. Her moans urged him on.
He had a raging desire to see her breasts, so, as he pleased her with his nips and nuzzles on her sensitive skin, he tugged at the ties to the tunic she wore.
Damn ties.
Finally he was able to open them wide enough to yank the wool back and expose one berry ripe crest.
It was perfect. Pert, pink, and pebbled. With a groan, he lapped at her nipple, then sucked it into his mouth.
She stilled. Drew in a harsh breath. Her fingers sank into the muscles of his back. “Ah,” she cried. “What are you doing to me?”
It was not a cry of distress—thank God—so he did it again. He lapped and nibbled and savored her breasts, one after the other, though he had to tear the opening of his tunic in order to see them both at once. He did not care. He had other tunics.
As he explored the glory of her breasts with his mouth, his hands were not idle. They skimmed the length of her torso over the wool, and moved farther down, until he reached her bare skin.
Excitement pounded through his veins as he found the hem, and then eased his palm up beneath the tunic. Her legs were exquisitely formed and softer than down, but as much as he enjoyed stroking them, he had a mission. He had a goal.
