The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles)

by McCollum, Heather

  Grace tapped her lip with a finger. “You could go down in your night rail, the one I gave you for your last birthday with the lace along the collar.”

  “With a cloak?” Ava asked, feeling her cheeks pinken. “It’s cold. Plus, I don’t want him to think I’m inviting him to bed me.”

  “True,” Grace said. “Although, you are trying to seduce him.”

  “Into marrying me, not bedding me.” Just the thought of Tor Maclean naked and against her sent blood rushing from her cheeks all through her body. Ava knew how things worked. She and Grace had once spied on a kitchen maid at Somerset in the stables with her lover. The groans, the erotic words they breathed between kisses, the undulating—it had been both frightening and intoxicating.

  “True,” Grace said. “Traditionally that should come after the vows.”

  Ava rolled her eyes at Grace and huffed, her heart thudding deeply enough to make her hands tingle. “What about any of this is traditional?”

  “True again, but why would a man marry if he can get…you know, for free?” Grace said. She stood, tapping her pinched lips with one dainty finger. “You could dress again in your dinner garments. The skirts are so heavy he’d be hard-pressed to lift them.”

  “Have you seen the strength in his muscles?” Ava asked.

  Grace lifted her eyebrows wickedly. “A bit, but not like you did in the kitchens.”

  Ava twirled one of her loose curls. Both of them had decided that her free-flowing hair was definitely more seductive. “I think I will just wear this day gown. It’s clean and comfortable.” Truth was, her normal clothes made her feel braver, and she definitely needed courage.

  “It does show all your fine attributes,” Grace said, nodding.

  A white, embroidered smock peeked just above the low neckline of her softly boned bodice of blue. It cinched inward to show Ava’s slender waist without smashing her breasts too far up. The skirts flowed down around her in a warm gray cambric with the lace of the smock peeking out to skim the tops of her blue slippers.

  Grace set a wool shawl of gray and blue about Ava’s shoulders. “If he inspects you again, try not to neigh this time,” she said with a squeeze and grin.

  Ava exhaled between clenched teeth. “He’s probably just going to see if I’ll show up, or maybe it’s a jest, and he’ll leave me sitting there alone until I give up waiting.”

  “Or,” Grace drew out, “he’s waiting with furs strewn about, sugared fruits with which to feed you, and an ancient Maclean engagement ring to make you his wife.”

  Ava laughed. “You are a romantic, Grace.” She gave her a quick hug. “I’m likely to be back in a quarter hour.”

  Grace’s smile slipped. “Should I come looking for you if you don’t return in an hour?”

  “Heavens no. I don’t need to worry about you getting lost and ravished within the castle.”

  Grace huffed. “Instead I must sit here worrying about your ravishment.”

  “Keep the door bolted so you don’t have to use the poker.”

  “I’m quite lethal with the poker,” Grace boasted softly as Ava stepped out into the dark stone corridor.

  Years of sneaking around Somerset had taught Ava how to blend into shadows and walk without making a sound. She descended the curling stairway like night falling, gradually, evenly, until she reached the bottom. Light from the hearth in the great hall barely penetrated the alcove where she peeked.

  Her stomach leaped at the sight of Tor sitting on a bench by the fire, bent over something in his lap. Ava clung to the edge of the archway and watched him. He wore his white shirt without the formal sash. She could just make out the muscles moving under the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders.

  He paused, his face turning so she could see the outline of his profile against the orange firelight. “Will you be coming out of your hole, little mouse?” he asked, the soft timbre of his voice slicing through the thick silence.

  The name piqued her temper, giving her an extra spark of courage, and she stepped forward into the room. Keeping her slippers and skirts whisper-quiet, she moved to the hearth until she could see Tor’s hands.

  Small wood shavings littered the stone floor around his bench. He held a chisel with a fine point, gouging and cutting a design in the handle of a small dirk. She moved closer to the fire, the warmth a comfort.

  “Are ye here to resurrect my dead heart?” he asked. He glanced at her before looking back down at the dirk. He blew against it to scatter the wood dust.

  “I…I am here to show you I am a courageous woman, a worthy wife for a warrior.”

  “Ye would wed a man with a dead heart, then? I believe that was the topic for tonight.” He set the dirk on the bench and stood, brushing the dust from his kilt. In the thick darkness of the room, the firelight opened up only a semicircle for them, making Tor seem even larger as he filled the small space.

  Courage. Ava inhaled through her nose and stepped forward until she could lay her hand across his chest. With a silly quiver of relief, she felt the thudding there.

  “I’ve found it, milord. Your heart isn’t dead after all.”

  He held her gaze. Only the slight tilt of his mouth showed his humor. “The anatomical heart continues to beat in a warrior’s chest even when the heart of a man has withered. It is how we spill the blood of our enemies without remorse.”

  Ava wet her dry lips, and his gaze dipped to them. She left her hand lying on his chest. The deep, human thudding against her palm reminded her that he was not some otherworldly beast, but a man. “Where, then, do you keep your other heart?” she asked.

  He smiled and placed his hand over hers, threatening to move it. “Some men keep their heart below their kilt,” he said, watching her. Even though her pulse jumped at his implication, she didn’t yank her hand away. The mischief in his eyes said he thought she would.

  “Somehow, I do not imagine anything withered below your kilt, Tor Maclean,” she answered.

  A smile broke along his mouth, showing the edge of white teeth. He released her hand, and she pulled it back to grip her skirt. She turned toward the fire. “And what sits below a man’s kilt has to do with lust, not love. We were speaking of love this evening.”

  When she turned back, Tor’s smile was gone. “Aye,” he said. “And that is decayed and dead in me.”

  “Do not give up hope. I am a healer.”

  His soft laugh had no humor. “That heart is in my skull and shrouded against all women. Ye shouldn’t try to fix something that is dead, Ava. It will only cause ye misery.”

  He’d said her name. It had been quick, but the way it rolled from his mouth was sinful, or at least her reaction must be, for a warm shiver ran through her, pooling in her abdomen.

  “It could be merely ill, not dead,” she said. He began to shake his head. “And I don’t believe I was asking for love, milord, just a wedding. People wed for many reasons that don’t involve love.”

  He paused, and she watched his mask slip the smallest amount, enough that she was certain she saw a hint of pain in the annoyance there. “It is my experience that young women aren’t content with merely a name, giving themselves away for the sake of a contract and alliances. And discontent can putrefy into bitterness and hate.” He turned his gaze to the hearth where low flames cast shadows against the floor. “No,” he said. “Lasses want something deeper.”

  “Deeper? Are we once again discussing your very alive…heart beneath your kilt?” she baited. A brazen comment, but she didn’t want to discuss love when it was something neither of them could give. He because he felt his ability to love was dead. She because love could never grow from lies, lies she must tell to keep her promise to Grace.

  With slow ease, his gaze slid back to her. “We can, if that is your intent.” His gaze fastened her to the wall where she stood. He moved closer. If they were playing chess, he would have called “check.”

  Ava could hardly breathe. “I but came for a kiss to revive a broken heart.”<
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  “A dead heart.”

  “So you say.”

  “That prompts the asking. Can Ava Ellington be content with two out of three?”

  Two out of three? Of what were they speaking again? He was so close now that when she inhaled, her breasts nearly touched him. Arms wrought of iron came up on either side of her head as he leaned in, completely surrounding her. Tor Maclean was a mountain of strength, hewn by hours of swordplay and battle. Molten power and hardness, skin over steel, he was the most masculine man she had ever encountered. How could she stand up to such intimidation? How could she hold her own against a tempest?

  He dipped his head, lowering toward her lips. Ava shut her eyes as he met hers in a kiss, a gentle kiss, before he pulled back. She blinked her eyes open, her body thrumming with anticipation. This was not a kiss but a peck.

  He watched her, his face intense. “A kiss and, alas, my heart is still dead.”

  She inhaled and exhaled, the rhythm completely disrupted. “’Tis not a fair chance,” she whispered as her body trembled in need. Need of his heat, his embrace, surely not his fabled heart. Ava ached to move, and being one of action, she did.

  Chapter Five

  As a warrior of renowned courage, Tor never contemplated retreat. But then he’d never been advanced upon by a warm, English slip of a lass before. Despite his glare, she curled her slender fingers into his untied shirt. She tipped her perfect little nose upward, daring him to question her or take a step back. He’d been certain by her first hesitant kiss that she was a virgin. Did English virgins stalk their men?

  Tor remained solid as a stone pillar marking the center of a battlefield. She tugged on his shirt, but when he didn’t bend, Ava’s small fists flattened palm-side down on his chest. She inched them upward, the pressure and warmth against his muscles a balm after practicing earlier with his broadsword.

  The fire crackled as it ate away the peat behind them, the only sound above the whisper of her breath. Ava leaned into him, standing on her toes to capture the back of his neck. She tugged on his hair. “Are ye afraid of a lass’s kiss?” she asked with a poorly imitated Scottish accent.

  He snorted in response and lowered his face to hers. His mouth remained set in a firm line as she pressed her soft lips to it. Everything about Ava was lush and warm, from her lips to her body molded up against him. Could she feel how her touch was turning him hard through her skirts? Would it scare her away before his reason and control burned to ash?

  When he didn’t return her kiss, her lips trailed to the corner of his mouth. Tor fisted his hands at his sides when he felt the tip of her tongue touch his lips. “What do ye think ye’re doing, lass?” he asked as the blood pounded through him. He tried to conjure a picture of his ailing great aunt when the blackness of disease had set into her feet, but Ava pulled back and blinked her bloody long lashes up at him.

  “I really have no idea,” she whispered. The small tug she gave her lower lip with her white teeth all but snapped his restraint.

  “Ye’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice low with warning.

  The gentle swell of her breasts, lying open to his view, seemed the color of pale moonlight. The scent of flowers laced her skin, drawing him like a damn bee to wildflowers. Ava released her bottom lip. “Fire is good since I believe I am trying to seduce you.”

  “Seduce me? For what purpose?”

  Ava pursed her lips tight but wouldn’t step away, making it hard for him to concentrate. “To prove your heart still lives and convince you to honor the betrothal agreement.”

  Tor looked down into the lovely oval face with dark, wide eyes. Her hair lay unbound around her shoulders. “Do ye know what occurs between a man and a woman when seduction is the game, lass?”

  Even in the shadows, he could see a slight stain to her cheeks. She lowered onto flat feet but didn’t move away. Her hands slid down to his chest. He could grasp those hands and hold them over her head, bending her back to kiss and tongue her flesh. He clenched his jaw tight.

  “Yes,” she said and let her fingers make small circles over his linen shirt. She glanced down at them while she spoke. “I am aware of…how things work.”

  He leaned in to inhale the fragrance near her temple. “Did your mother tell ye?” She shook her head. He moved his lips over to her ear, grazing the delicate edge. “Did ye see two people then?”

  She nodded ever so slightly, and he had to inhale and exhale to keep control. “Did they make sounds?” he whispered. His arms came around Ava’s back to draw her in.

  “Yes,” she said, the word barely audible. A whistle of wind skirted the keep like the low moan of a lover.

  He stroked her back, down to her hips where he caught the bunch of her skirts and molded her to his length. He pressed into her, the ache building in his loins. All the while he waited for her to pull back, but she didn’t. He bent over her to kiss the side of her neck. “What did ye see, sweet Ava?” he asked. She shivered in his arms, and a soft murmur rose from her open lips.

  “’Twas in a barn,” she whispered. “A kitchen maid and a groom.”

  He rested his hand over her shoulder, relishing the softness of her skin along her bare collarbone. “Did the maid seduce the groom?” he asked.

  “I…I don’t know,” she breathed. He kissed the swell of her breasts, using his tongue to taste the sweetness of her skin. Damnation. He could devour her right here in the hall, lay her out on the solid oak table behind them and lift her skirts.

  He raised his face to hers. Flushed cheeks, her lips open and hair free. Ava was primed and perfect. She was beautiful in a day dress. She’d be magnificent naked and sprawled across his bed.

  Tor exhaled a small growl as he descended to capture Ava’s sweet mouth. His hold tightened, and she looped her arms around his neck, giving in to the kiss, melting against his mouth. She opened under the smallest of pressure, letting him taste her fully. Her tongue tentatively touched his. When she moaned in the back of her throat, all Tor’s thoughts of resistance crumbled away, leaving only raw hunger for this delectable, willing woman he cradled.

  He lifted her without breaking the kiss and strode across the hall to the winding stairway. He shifted her in his arms to avoid banging her legs against the central pillar as he carried her up past the low-burning torches toward his bedroom. It was on the same level as the room she shared with her maid.

  Tor let Ava slide down his length until her slippers touched the ground. Her breaths fell heavy as they stood in the dark corridor. He ravished her neck with open kisses where the pulse beat like a bird against a window, straining to fly.

  “Oh, Tor,” she breathed. The voice caught at his memory. Words of passion taking away his senses in a dark corridor. He pulled back to see her shadow slanted down the long hall and paused as an icy recollection slithered through the fire consuming his sense. With each inhale and exhale, Tor gained more control.

  He placed his hands on the wall on either side of Ava. “Seems ye’ve seduced me.”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, her breathing still shallow. “Have I?” she whispered.

  She sounded innocent and dazed, but Tor remembered the lesson he’d learned a decade ago. He cupped Ava’s warm cheek. “Ye are trying to get me to wed ye,” he said.

  She turned to meet his gaze. “Yes, you know that.”

  “And ye are using my own passion to get what ye desire.” After a long moment, she nodded. Tor couldn’t be angry at her honesty, but the emotion rolled through him anyway. “Even if ye seduce me, lass,” he leaned into her so they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Even if ye convince me to throw away caution and love ye every single night,” he brushed her ear with his lips. “Making ye moan like that maid in the hay.” He felt her shiver and almost picked her back up, but he stopped and curled his hands once again into fists.

  “Even if all that happens, lass, I will not be tricked into marrying ye.” He backed up a step, adjusting himself through his kilt and giving the cool a
ir in the hall room to work on his senses.

  “I’m not trying to trick you,” Ava said. “I need to marry you.” No tears or wrenching of hands. No desperate fingers trying to pull him to her again. Ava stood, her back and palms against the rough wall, allowing the castle to hold her upright.

  “Why? Why do ye need to marry me?”

  “Grace and I,” she started and stopped, glancing down the hall toward her room. “It isn’t safe for us back in York. Her… My father is ill, and we will have nowhere to go when he dies.”

  “So ye wish to marry to save yourself from destitution?” he asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. Was there more to her answer? He waited, but she didn’t say anything else.

  Down the hall, the door opened and her maid’s face peeked out. “Oh,” she said, and yanked herself back inside.

  Tor gave Ava a little bow. “I will leave ye to your rest.” He turned away.

  “Wait,” Ava called. “Did I…I mean…” He heard her curse softly in the dark. “Is your heart still dead?” she asked in hushed tones.

  Was it? Of course. But the small catch in her voice halted his cutting reply. “Two out of three are working fine. If that’s enough for ye, I am open to discussing an arrangement.” Tor strode to the stairs without waiting for any reply and jogged down into the cool darkness.

  Tor continued into the great hall, making Hamish jump where he stood beside the hearth, his hands spread. “What in blazes are ye doing up?” he asked. “Me and Duky are on watch tonight.”

  Tor wrapped the knife he’d been working on in a soft cloth and pivoted toward the doors. “I’m in need of brisk air,” he answered. “And a possible swim in the river.”

  Hamish snorted. “Ye’ll freeze yer balls off.”

  Exactly what he needed.

  …

  Ava turned her friend by the shoulders so she could lace Grace’s stays. “I can’t believe you seduced him,” Grace murmured.

  “He said I did, but…I thought I would have to sleep with him,” Ava said and pulled the taut ribbons while Grace held the triangular stomacher in place.