MacAdam's Lass

by Glynnis Campbell

  So, searching the mattress with the flat of her hand, she located her dagger, closed her fingers around the grip, and swept it up to the point of his chin.

  His eyes widened. “What the…? Jossy, ’tis me.”

  She hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed, but unwilling to let down her guard.

  “Jossy, lass,” he said, raising his palms in surrender, “I didn’t mean to hurt ye. If I’d known ’twas ye…”

  He shifted his weight as if to climb off of her. She stopped him with a poke of her blade.

  He flinched. “Whoa, lass, I was only goin’ to move off o’ ye.”

  “Why are ye back so early from the links?”

  He narrowed his eyes, surprised by her question. She jabbed again at his chin to hurry his answer.

  He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “I broke my niblick.”

  “And?”

  His soft blue eyes were growing darker by the moment. “I came to fetch another,” he bit out. “Now I have a question o’ my own, lass.”

  Josselin held her breath.

  “What the devil are ye doin’ in my room?”

  Chapter 28

  Josselin’s mind went blank. What could she tell him? That she suspected he was a spy? That she’d rifled through his things to see for herself?

  At her hesitation, Drew acted swiftly. Before she could squeak out a reply, he easily batted away her dagger hand, pried the blade from her grip, and set the point at her throat. The sudden shift in power was breathtaking.

  “I said it before,” he smugly reminded her. “If ye’ve got the cods to enter the field o’ battle, then ye’d better have the cods to lose.”

  Breathtaking and infuriating.

  “Now, lass, I’ll repeat my question. What are ye doin’ in my room?”

  Her brain worked furiously, trying to come up with a plausible excuse, which wasn’t easy, considering there was a blade at her throat and a Highlander straddling her.

  “Let me take a wild guess,” he said. “Ye came to rob me.”

  “Nae!”

  He clucked his tongue. “The wages I’ve earned in the last week alone would make a handsome prize for a tavern wench from Selkirk.”

  “I’m not a thief!” she retorted so vehemently she almost impaled herself on her own dagger.

  “Nae?”

  “Nae!” Suddenly inspired, she challenged him with a steely glare. “But what about ye? Maybe ye’re a thief.”

  He smirked. “Me?”

  She arched a sly brow. “If ye’re not a thief, then what’s a golfer doin’ with a sword?”

  Drew’s stomach plummeted. Damn! The meddlesome lass had found his sword. How was he going to explain that?

  He frowned. He had to do something fast, and he’d learned from battling with a blade that a strong offense could hide a weak defense.

  “What!” he barked, shaking his head in disgust. “Ye went snoopin’ through my things? Marry, lass, didn’t your fathers teach ye ’tisn’t right to go pokin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong?” He muttered an oath. “Here I was thinkin’ ye were a forthright lass. But ye’re not, are ye? Once my back is turned—”

  “I am forthright,” she insisted.

  “Ye couldn’t wait to rob me blind,” he said, sadly realizing that he might be right. “Ye knew where my room was. Ye waited till I was in the middle of a match. Then ye sneaked past the innkeeper. Didn’t ye?”

  She caught her lying lip under her teeth. Drew could tell he was hitting the ball square off the tee, and it depressed him, probably more than it should have, for he’d spent a merry morn with Jossy on the links, and he’d begun not only to desire the lass, but also to genuinely adore her.

  He let out an unhappy sigh, wishing he’d left the room while he had the chance. He might have found himself short a few coins, but at least he wouldn’t have been so miserably disappointed.

  “I…I wasn’t goin’ to take anythin’, I swear.”

  “O’ course ye weren’t. Ye were only takin’ a wee promenade about my room.”

  “Maybe.”

  He snorted. “Ye expect me to believe that?”

  “’Tis the truth.”

  He leaned in close enough to brush her cheek with his whisper. “Then why, darlin’, didn’t ye wait for me to give ye the tour?”

  “I…” She faltered. “I wanted to surprise ye.”

  He lifted a brow. “Well, that ye did.”

  “Nae. I mean… I wanted to…” She reached up one tentative hand and touched his throat. She swallowed hard, and her fingers trembled as they slipped lower to his chest, edging beneath the fabric of his shirt to contact his skin. “Surprise ye,” she breathed.

  He stiffened and cocked his head, suspicious. “Surprise me?” But already his body was responding to her feminine overtures. Already he was prepared to believe her.

  She nodded. She lifted her left hand as well and caught the open edges of his doublet.

  The dagger wavered in his grip. Could it be true? Could she have come for…him?

  She curled her fists in his doublet and pulled him toward her. She was staring at his mouth, her lips parted in anticipation.

  He shouldn’t trust her. A woman with a knife at her throat would do or say anything. And a Scotswoman was about as trustworthy as the North Sea.

  But he didn’t want to believe Jossy was a thief. And he didn’t want to believe she’d lie to him. What she was doing to him now—pulling him close for a kiss to show him how much she desired him—that he wanted to believe.

  Against his better judgment and cursing himself for a lusty fool, he succumbed to her wishes, withdrawing the blade and lowering his head to hers.

  Of course, he wasn’t a complete simpleton. He tossed the dagger well out of her reach. But ’twasn’t the only weapon in her arsenal, and he left himself dangerously vulnerable to the most powerful weapon a woman could wield.

  “Well, darlin’,” he murmured, “what kind o’ surprise did ye have in—”

  Josselin shut him up with a kiss, pulling him close and grinding her mouth against his with artless abandon.

  She had no idea what she was doing. In one moment she’d been at the mercy of a possible thief-spy-assassin, and in the next she’d managed to disarm him with the impulsive promise of…

  Hell, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d promised.

  His lips were warm, and she could taste the enticing sweat of battle upon him. She had to admit ’twas not an unpleasant flavor.

  The smell of his skin—clean and slightly scented with the lingering spice of his soap—was agreeable. The heat of his body against hers was rather welcome—indeed, ’twas strangely arousing.

  God’s bones! She was definitely in over her head now.

  She wasn’t a seasoned spy. She didn’t know how to lie and cheat and sneak around. She was accustomed to direct confrontation, not deception. She’d acted on pure instinct. He’d cornered her mentally and physically, and she’d responded with the first thing that had popped into her mind.

  Now she was trapped in her own ruse, forced to kiss him, forced to pretend she’d come here, not to spy upon him, but to seduce him.

  Marry, what she knew about seducing men would fit in that thimble he’d given her.

  But she’d always been taught to have a strong offense. Trying to remember what they’d done before, she deepened the kiss, coaxing him on with soft mews. Then she pitched her mouth across his, teasing it open with bold sweeps of her tongue.

  He answered with unexpected zeal, seizing her face between his hands and tipping her head to access her more fully. He threaded his fingers through her hair, anchoring her, then parted her lips with his tongue to invade the recesses within.

  She should be frightened. This was a skirmish for which she was completely unprepared. But every brush of his lips soothed her fears and excited her, and soon she yearned for more spirited combat.

  Beneath his palms, she could feel her pulse racing. Her heart pounded,
and the blood rushed through her veins, as intoxicating as any ale. Her head swam in a hazy sea of need and turmoil and longing, and she had no desire to be pulled from the perilous waves.

  He growled against her mouth, and the sound sent a curious sizzle along her spine, waking her senses and making her dare more.

  She let go of his doublet and slipped her hands inside, letting them roam over his broad shoulders and the smooth contours of his chest. Through the thin saffron shirt, she felt the sultry warmth of his body. And as mad as it seemed, the sensation triggered a pleasing twinge between her legs.

  Meanwhile, his hands forged their own seductive path across her flesh. He skimmed her throat with the back of his knuckles, and his fingertips drifted across her collarbone to slip beneath her chemise, caressing the skin there.

  She shivered at the delicious, forbidden contact and rose to meet it, longing to feel his hands delve further beneath her clothing.

  As if sensing her desires, he loosened the laces of her bodice and slipped the chemise from her shoulder, baring the top of her bosom. Her breasts thrust upward, aching for his touch, daring him to trespass there. She moaned as waves of delicious torment filled her head.

  When she thought she’d drown in the lusty current, he broke off the kiss, nuzzling her ear to whisper, “Is this what ye came for, love?”

  His breath spiraled into her ear, awakening something deep within her brain, and she shivered, answering him with a sigh.

  “Is this what ye want?”

  He pressed his lips in a sweet trail down the side of her neck, and she turned her head aside to give him access. Anticipation curled her toes and made her clench her fists in his shirt.

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He bestowed gentle kisses along the upper curve of her bosom, moving lower and lower until she arched up, wishing he would free her breasts and feast upon her.

  He chuckled softly. “Oh, Jossy, ye’re a wanton wench.”

  Maybe she did know what she was doing, after all, she thought, before rational thought deserted her and she surrendered to instinct.

  He did as she willed then, pulled down her bodice to expose her breasts, then lowered his head to capture one in his warm, wet mouth.

  She gasped, arching reflexively and twisting her fists tighter in his shirt, wanting…

  She didn’t know what she wanted. More. Closer. Deeper.

  Soon, the tingling between her thighs became a burning need, and she thrust her hips up as well, seeking some unnamed relief for the fiery torment there.

  He moved to her other breast and lavished the same satisfying attention on her there, but instead of quenching her thirst, his bold efforts only aggravated her need.

  She pulsed up against him again, and this time she felt all too vividly the evidence of his arousal. Even through the layers of his shirt and trews, she could tell he’d grown as hard as steel. Which sent a heady tremor through her bones.

  She was doing it, she realized. She was seducing him. And that knowledge gave her a sense of power. Even while she languished at his mercy, she had him wrapped around her finger, just where she…

  He slipped his hand down between her legs and, with remarkable precision, found the very spot that hungered the most. ’Twas as if lightning had struck her. Sweet fire blazed through every nerve. And for the first time in her life, Josselin felt in danger of losing control.

  “Do ye like that, lass?” he murmured. “Do ye like it when—”

  She surged upward with the last ounce of her will and bowled the Highlander over onto his back. A strong offense, she repeated to herself. Now she had him right where she wanted him.

  Josselin’s response was more forceful than Drew had expected. But he wasn’t about to complain. Only a fool would complain when a beautiful half-naked blonde sat astride him.

  She was breathtaking. Tendrils of her hair dripped like honey over her bare shoulders and flirted with her heaving breasts, still wet from his tongue. Her lips, swollen with kisses, parted in invitation. Her eyes smoldered with passion.

  Lord, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. His blood was hot, his appetite was whetted, and his body was primed for trysting.

  She tore open his doublet, wrenching it off of his shoulders, and pulled up the shirt underneath, baring his chest. Then she caught his wrists and held him down, asserting her superiority with a rough kiss of claiming.

  He didn’t mind. Not at all. Her breasts were soft and warm upon him. Her lips were sweet and supple. That she wanted him enough to take command of his body only sharpened his desire.

  He let her have her way with him, pinning him to the bed, plundering his mouth, taunting him by brushing her tempting breasts against his chest.

  But the wild hound in his trews was not so patient. It languished in the heat of her onslaught, begging to be unleashed.

  She mirrored his lovemaking, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, then pushing his shirt up to bathe his chest with her tongue, and he closed his eyes at the divine sensation.

  All the while she gently rocked back and forth upon his lap, probably unaware of her actions. But the effect upon him was like flint on steel. Soon his need would burst into flame.

  He adjusted his hips beneath her, lifting his thigh slightly between hers to give her the friction she craved. She pressed against him, rocking harder, seeking relief.

  “I know what ye want, darlin’,” he breathed. “I can—”

  She never gave him the chance. All at once, she thrust her hand down and seized the front of his trews, drawing a gasp from him. The little minx actually smiled faintly, as smug as a cat slurping cream.

  “Jossy, love,” he breathlessly warned her, “ye’re playin’ with fire.”

  “Am I?”

  He smiled back and reached down to return the favor, rubbing purposefully between her legs and eliciting a ragged gasp from her.

  But instead of retreating shyly, the lass attacked him with more aggression. She loosened the laces of his trews and boldly shoved her hand inside.

  Current flooded every nerve, and he groaned with the pleasure-pain of her assault.

  But two could play her game.

  He tugged up her skirts, slipping his hand underneath to seek out the hot core of her need. She moaned deeply, and the primal sound fueled his passion.

  Supporting herself on one arm, Josselin planted her knees on either side of him, positioning herself strategically above him.

  Amazed and thrilled by her unashamed aggression, he mustered his last ounce of nobility to stop her.

  Holding her back with a hand upon her chest, he gasped out, “Wait, lass. Have ye done this before?”

  Her eyes were glazed with determined passion.

  “Ye can’t…” he explained, “ye can’t just… If ye’ve never… Let me…”

  “I’ve never golfed either,” she panted, “but that didn’t stop me.”

  Then, before he could prevent her, she sank down onto his hips, sheathing him in her welcoming warmth, and the deed was done.

  Chapter 29

  Satan’s claws!

  Josselin bit her lip against crying out. For an instant she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. ’Twas like impaling herself on a great jagged knife.

  Beneath her, Drew stiffened. “Oh, lass!” he whispered.

  She refused to let him see her weakness. He’d warned her, after all. Aye, ’twas painful, but it had been her idea, and she wasn’t about to back down. Besides, she could no more undo what had been done than she could recall a careless slash of the sword.

  So she blinked back the tears of pain starting in her eyes, clenched her teeth against the size of him inside her, and tried to move.

  “Nae, love,” Drew murmured, stopping her. “Let me.”

  She didn’t want to let him take the offensive, and she didn’t want his pity. ’Twould show she was weak. But he gave her no choice. For a man who didn’t have the bulging muscles of a caber-tosser, he was damned strong.
Holding her against him with one hand on her buttocks, he gently rolled with her until he was once again on top.

  Humiliated, she refused to meet his gaze. She’d felt so victorious a moment ago, and now…

  “The pain will pass in a moment,” he told her, tenderly brushing the hair back from her brow, “I promise.”

  “’Tis nothin’,” she lied. “I’ve had worse from a blade.”

  He cupped her cheek and kissed the corner of her lip. “Breathe through the pain, and try to let it go. I won’t move a muscle till ye give the word.”

  He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth, and she answered instinctively. Considering his bold invasion below, his trespass upon her lips was surprisingly delicate.

  He stroked her with a feather-light touch, murmuring against her ear, “I’m sorry if I hurt ye.”

  But already she was adjusting to his fullness, and she could feel the delicious erotic glow gradually returning to her skin.

  The frantic need she’d experienced a moment before was gone. In its place was a slow-building, tender craving that was soothing her hurt and taking her to a sweeter place, a place to which they were journeying together.

  “That’s it, love,” he said. “There’s no hurry. ’Tis a dance, not a race.”

  His soft touch—along her jaw, over her shoulders, upon her breasts—began to bring her to life again. Soon, floating in a haze of arousal, she started to respond, returning his kisses, clutching at his shirt, weaving her fingers through his wild hair. Caught up in bliss, she almost forgot about her discomfort.

  “If ye’ll allow me,” he whispered, “I can make it better.”

  She couldn’t imagine anything better, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. She nodded.

  He slipped his hand down to the place where they were joined, massaging her gently. She sucked in a sharp breath, not of pain, but of pleasure.

  Like a swordsman with a blade at her heart, he held her hostage. With the slightest movement of his fingers, he controlled her passion. He could send her lust spiraling out of bounds or withhold his touch to leave her begging for more.

  It shocked her to know how easily he’d usurped her dominance.