Kissing the Highlander

by Terry Spear

  Stepping forward, Samuel sighed deeply and gently gripped Catriona above the elbow. He kept his touch light, not wanting to frighten her, but by taking hold he was also showing Geoffrey what he wanted to see—the man didn’t need to know just how slight his hold was.

  “Show me to the library,” he demanded in a low voice.

  Catriona glanced up at him, her fiery gaze connecting with his and sending a jolt through him. Was it possible to be struck by lightning figuratively? Because that was how he felt. And then he was immediately disgusted. He sneered at his moment of femininity, baring his teeth at the chit. He didn’t like that this woman could make him feel things he’d never felt before, and he didn’t even know her.

  She didn’t move. But stared up at him, fear pooling in her eyes. Beneath his fingertips she wasn’t warm and she trembled. Geoffrey had scared the warmth from her blood. A fierce need to protect her tugged at his gut.

  “The library. Now,” he bit out. For the love of Christ, he couldn’t turn her over to Geoffrey. With skin so smooth, she couldn’t be a day over eighteen summers, and was most likely a virgin, if she even knew the ways of men.

  Her lips pressed together, crinkling at the corners as it looked like she would say something. Judging from what he’d seen it wasn’t going to be pleasant, which might only cause Geoffrey to take her to the library himself.

  Samuel widened his eyes and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Catriona appeared to understand his slight warning and instead of speaking gave a single nod, then took several tentative steps toward a slim archway off the side of the great hall.

  “Where exactly is the library?” he asked, not wanting to be surprised by a room full of Highlanders. They’d swept the castle, but Samuel hadn’t been on the team that had discovered the room.

  “Just up the stairs,” she murmured, her voice strained.

  As they passed through the archway and were out of earshot of the men, Samuel whispered, “Do as I say, and I’ll do my damndest to see he doesn’t hurt you.”

  Chapter 2

  THE stairwell was dark, made darker by the circular stair that tactically cut off light from above and below as a method of defense. To save coin, they only lit the torches at night and the servants within the house—however few there were—had learned to traverse the stairs in the dark.

  Catriona blinked, trying to let her eyes adjust and make out the expression in the eyes of the knight who’d been charged with taking her to the library. A place she’d once sought refuge and peace in, but would now take some ungodly punishment if Sir Geoffrey had his way. She gritted her teeth. Her escort had growled a confusing promise of protection.

  What could this man mean? He’d try not to see her harmed? What did he care about her?

  She put one foot on the stair and then turned to look at him. Light filtered from the great hall, outlining his figure. His face was covered with metal, and it further shadowed his eyes. How could he ensure she wasn’t hurt? Would he be the one to knock her over the head so she didn’t feel Sir Geoffrey’s rough hands on her? That was hardly what she’d call protection. Catriona narrowed her eyes. Who was the man behind the mask? For the most part, Catriona was a good judge of character if she could see their faces.

  She couldn’t tell if he spoke the truth or was testing her.

  He stood still as a statue blocking her path back to the great hall. Chainmail covered his arms and the part of his chest where his red and gold liveried tunic dipped. The breadth of his shoulders was impressive, but she assumed it must be for him to carry all that metal—even his boots were protected by chainmail. He was taller than her. By at least a head, which was so odd to her that she nearly forgot her thoughts. Most men equaled her height with only a few exceptions—this English knight being one of them. Ugh. She hated that this goat possessed a trait she admired.

  Loud, pain-filled cries followed by laughter came from the great hall. The hair on her arms raised and she instinctively took a step forward, determined to get around the metal-clad door and help whomever Geoffrey and his crew were determined to hurt. But his hand on her arms stopped her.

  “Don’t go out there. I can help you, but not if you put yourself in Geoffrey’s sight.” The smooth, deep timbre of his voice should have sent her into a rage, but instead a shiver of interest tickled the back of her spine.

  She liked the sound of his voice. That might have been even more disturbing. She had to run. But how?

  If she did choose to make a run for it, she’d only end up in the evil arms of Geoffrey and his men. If she went down the stairs, she’d end up in the cellar which was windowless and of little use. Up was her only option. Maybe she could find a weapon to use against him, and then make her escape.

  For now, the best course would be to act as though she didn’t care either way. “I dinna need your help, Sassenach,” she spit out.

  Why didn’t he tighten his hold on her arm? Shouldn’t he be itching to strike her? The English were a brutal, bloodthirsty lot. She was surprised she’d not already been raped, her throat slit.

  “Get your hands off me,” she demanded, yanking against his weak hold.

  Instantly, his hand dropped from her arm.

  What in the world…? She raked her gaze over his shadowed form. In the dim light she couldn’t tell if he was bleeding, but assumed he must be injured somehow. Why else would he be so eager to let go of her? That was probably why Sir Geoffrey had assigned him as her escort, because he was too weak to finish off the rest of her people. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He would be very easy to overpower and then she could make her escape.

  With a sigh, Catriona said, “Well, come on then. We need to get upstairs, and it might take ye a while.”

  The man grunted his reply and moved his arm in a dark blur toward the stairs, indicating she should go first. Probably didn’t want her to see him limp. Well, served him right for the crimes he must have committed against her people.

  “The stairs are oft slippery, Sassenach, and with your heavy armor and limitations, ye’ll likely lose your balance. I willna be catching ye, so hold tight to the wall, else ye’ll never reach the library,” she warned.

  “I am not limited, chit. Now up you go.”

  Catriona shrugged, lifting the hem of her gown as she climbed. “Limited, flawed, weak, whatever ye wish to call it.”

  The knight blew out a deep irritated breath. “I am none of those, and if you continue to insult me I’ll be forced to show you my strength.”

  Now it was her turn to grunt. Obviously, she’d hit a sore spot with the poor lad. Maybe beneath all the armor he was missing a limb, or had lost enough blood that he was addle-brained. Too bad for him, it was a good thing for her.

  The slim, hidden door on the left came into view and Catriona almost passed it by when a thought occurred to her. If she were to lead this man to a different place, she could easily overtake him in his state, and it would be awhile before Geoffrey and his horde of maggots found him. By then, she’d be long gone. Their castle might have been small, but it was not without its own secrets and abilities to protect those who claimed it as home.

  She slipped her finger into the crack between the stone wall and the left side of the door until she found the hidden latch and clicked it open.

  “This way, English,” she said, cautiously keeping any excitement from her voice.

  They stepped through and when the man didn’t quite shut it tight enough she stepped around him and berated him with an easy lie. “Must shut it all the way. ’Tis so drafty in here, the winds have blown the door right off several times.” She clicked the latch back into place, then scooted back around the metal-clad lad to lead him further down the darkened, slim hallway. Luckily the stairwell had also been just as dark, else he might have picked up on her trickery.

  The stone floor was more uneven here as it was crudely and quickly made, and nary a soul had ever walked this way unless they, like she, were trying to escape. A very tiny hole in the
wall at the end of the corridor lit a shaft of white light through the center of the walkway. Catriona followed the light to the end and then found the hidden latch to another door that led down a stairwell so slim she worried the knight might not be able to manage it.

  “A shortcut?” he said, amusement in his voice.

  She didn’t like that. He was toying with her.

  “Nay,” she said, a little too put out. He was going to catch on to what she was doing.

  “Hmm. We had a few at Mowbray Manor, but as this is my first fortress in Scotland, I’d not known you savages had secret passages.”

  Catriona stopped on the stairs and the knight ran right into her, the cold iron seeping into her skin and chilling her already frigid bones. She started to fall forward, but was saved by his surprisingly strong grip on her shoulders.

  She cleared her throat and straightened herself, not bothering to thank him for saving her from serious injury. “We are not savages. And this is not a secret passageway.”

  The man was a lot smarter than she thought, and that just rubbed her entirely the wrong way.

  He grunted. A sound she was quickly becoming annoyed with, and that she was also coming to associate with him not believing her nonsense. The sooner she got rid of this oversized goon, the better.

  NOT a secret passage his arse.

  Behind his helmet, Samuel glared down at the chit, though he couldn’t see more than a shadowy outline of her head and body. He kept himself vigilant the rest of the descent, all too keenly aware of the supple curve of her shoulders, the way her skin had heated against his palms. She’d been cold in the great hall, but was now warmer.

  He frowned all the more. She was definitely up to something. What that something was, he guessed was escape, and with confidence, he’d seen it excited her. But how exactly was she planning to break away?

  Then it occurred to him—she’d called him weak, limited. The poor woman had mistaken his gentleness for weakness—a realization that made him all the more scared for his own sisters. How rough were the savages with their women?

  Well, he could use this knowledge to his advantage.

  “Whatever you say, my lady. I but hope you lead us quickly into the library so I might find a seat.” He grinned since she couldn’t see it.

  “Oh, aye,” she said, an audible sigh permeating the stairwell. “There are plenty of seats in the library.” She paused, and he resisted the urge to bump into her, just so he could feel the heat of her again seep through his cold mail. “Ah, here we are.” Excitement threaded her words. She was extremely pleased with herself.

  Just where had she taken him?

  A door creaked open, but no light crept in. A secret room. One without windows.

  “Is this the library?” he asked, stepping through after her. She’d moved quickly away from the door, familiar with the room where he was not.

  “Mmhmm,” she said. “Come over here, there is a seat, and then I shall light the candles.”

  A trick, he was certain, but he liked this game they were playing. Feigning pain, he said, “Oh, but I fear I’ll fall. I’m feeling out of sorts. Can you light the candle first?”

  He heard her sharp puff of breath and could almost feel her irritation. It only made him smile more. Granted, Sir Geoffrey was an imbecile, but that did not mean that all the English had their heads up their arses and hands wrapped around their cocks. And soon she’d know just that.

  “If ye insist,” she said.

  He could almost picture the pinched look of her as she glared at him through the dark.

  “Many thanks for your hospitality, my lady,” he said, praying the sarcasm did not show in his voice.

  Her shadow swept from one side of the room to another. He wondered if she was aware of where he stood. But then he felt her come up beside him, felt a whoosh of air. He put out his hands at the last second to catch her swinging arm, and grappled the fire poker from her tight fist.

  “Nice try,” he whispered against her ear, sliding his hands over the curve of her upper arm, and holding her only a little tighter—not tight enough to hurt. “Best be certain your prey is weak before assuming such.”

  The heat of their exchange crackled in the air. Her breaths puffed out hard, and she jerked, trying to free herself from his hold. Unsure of why, but unable to fight it nevertheless, Samuel had the overwhelming urge to kiss her until she melted against him. To unleash the passion he knew had to simmer beneath the surface of her fiery temper.

  He held back, forcing himself not to lean forward, to lift his helmet and let his lips brush hers. Instead, he loosened his grip on one shoulder and slid his hand up to the side of her neck, touching the place where her pulse beat hard beneath tender flesh. Feeling that little beat jump under his touch, he smiled at the inhale of her breath.

  He lifted his face plate, leaned close, his nose brushing her hair, taking in the floral, spicy scent.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked, his lips brushing over her ear.

  She didn’t move.

  Didn’t try to pull away.

  In fact, she leaned a little closer and shivered.

  If he were a daft man, and he wasn’t, he might have been tricked into believing that she wanted him to kiss her. The tip of his nose skimmed over the line of her jaw. Maybe he would just take a little taste of her. A sweet kiss for the road, as he escaped this place in search of his sisters. Sir Geoffrey and King Edward be damned.

  “Sir, please,” she whimpered. “Please dinna hurt me.”

  It was those words that had him letting go, pushing himself away from her. Her shiver had not been from want of a kiss, but fear.

  Disgust rolled over him in waves. What had he been thinking, touching her like that? Saints, but he’d nearly kissed her. Had drawn in her pleasant scent and been intoxicated by it.

  “You’re an enchantress,” he murmured. And I’m a bastard.

  “And ye’re a bloody English boor.”

  That sounded right to him, but he wasn’t about to let her know how he felt about his own actions. In fact, he’d best prepare her for what would happen if Sir Geoffrey could get a hold of her. “Watch the way you speak to us bloody English, chit, else you find one not so nice as myself.”

  She humphed loudly and walked away. The clink of iron had him guessing she’d replaced the fire poker.

  “Might want to step more lightly, too. I heard every little toe tap from the moment we entered this little secret hideaway of yours.” He pulled a flint from his pouch, and walked toward the outline of a hearth. With luck there would be wood in the fireplace to light the room. “What exactly did you have planned?”

  “I dinna need to share my plans with ye,” she said.

  Samuel shrugged. On top of the hearth he found a candle and thought it might be easier to light. A flick of his wrists and the room was illuminated. It did have the look of a library, just not the one he’d been expecting.

  “Right you are, my lady, but…” He set down the candlestick and turned his gaze full on her. She was mesmerizing in the golden light. “I may have a proposition for you.”

  The words were out of his mouth before he could think on them further.

  “Proposition?”

  “Aye.” He nodded as the idea sunk further. “You need my help, and as it turns out, I need yours.”

  Chapter 3

  HE needed her help?

  What kind of twist of fate was that?

  In the dim light Catriona took the time to really study the knight who’d turned out to be different than she first assumed. His face wasn’t smooth—about a day or two's worth of beard grazed his cheeks and chin. He didn’t smile, but his lips weren’t fierce either. In fact, they were perhaps the most handsome lips she’d ever seen. They were pink and soft looking, but shaped like a man’s mouth. A mouth born for kissing.

  Good lord, but what was she thinking? She wasn’t obviously. She couldn’t stop staring at his kissable lips and his eyes that were
ice blue. Her gaze shifted back and forth. She shivered and tried to focus on something else. The bump at the bridge of his nose was a good place. Must have broken it once or twice. She frowned as she concentrated on the spot. She’d been duped by this knight. And she didn’t like it.

  Either he was good at faking it, or he really didn’t have an injury. She was going to hazard a guess that he’d been cunning enough to figure out that she assumed he was injured and let her think so. Bastard. But what more could she expect from an Englishman? ’Twas well known that none of the English had any morals. Zounds, but she was lucky to still be alive. Once he’d figured out that she’d led him to this secret room, he could have easily ravished and killed her. And yet when he’d had his lips on her ear… When he’d nearly kissed her…

  Catriona’s blood heated and tingles pricked their way along her limbs and fluttered in her belly. What the bloody hell was happening? She wasn’t supposed to be interested in this imbecile. Well, she wasn’t. Her body was the rebellious one.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and humphed. “I dinna think there is anything I can help ye with, nor do I need your protection.”

  The man shrugged, and she noted his expression did not change, though his eyes studied her with great interest.

  “I know you think you don’t need my help, but I hate to point out the fact that you’re alone in a castle with nothing but Englishmen—most of whom would like to see you bent over that chair with your skirts up around your ears.”

  The image he placed in her mind was scandalous, and while it should have brought fear, all she could think about were his lips on her ear. She grimaced. It was his fault. All the bloody English’s fault. If they’d not brought their immoral, savage selves into her castle she’d not be thinking this way at all.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  As her lips formed the f sound in myself, he was on her, whirling her around. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pressed his other hand over her mouth. Effortlessly, he hauled her into the air.