My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  A tickle teased her womanhood.

  Oh, cazzo! She snapped upright.

  While she might appear fully clothed, Viviana felt very much naked. A twinge of wickedness drew her lips upward. Mayhap she should tempt Goliath this day.

  A bell rang thrice.

  “I’m coming to fetch ye,” Laird Kraig bellowed then began humming the naughty tune from the day before.

  She stood stock still, held her breath, and listened to his rich tenor voice until the melody cut off abruptly. She waited, tolerating the silence with little patience. “M’laird, is something amiss?” She patted her gown checking to see if all was in order.

  “Nay.” He closed the space between them, standing so close the edges of his doublet grazed the front of her bodice. A jolt shot straight to her core. His heated exhales rippled down her neck and feathered over the tops of her breasts.

  Oh, he was taking his fill. His gaze caressed her skin like a breeze on a summer’s eve. “Are you staring at my breasts, again?”

  “Ye tell me.”

  She sensed his arms around her just before the familiar weight of the amulet fell between her breasts. She shivered, inhaled a shaky breath, and pressed the talisman against her skin.

  “Ye protected the amulet for eight years. I trust ye will keep it safe the remainder of our journey.”

  She placed her hand in his and waited for the light with the greatest anticipation.

  The haze dissipated and the purple edge formed around a vision of herself. Her hair was loose and wrapped around her shoulders, and her brows were raised in awe above eyes filled with unshed tears. She wouldn’t cry, but oh, she wanted to. It was as if a child had been returned to her. “Thank you, m’laird.”

  “‘Tis as much yours, as it is mine.” He cradled her head and focused on her lips.

  “Nothing will happen to it. You have my word.” Through his eyes, she watched him explore her features. Eyes glittered back at her beneath long black lashes. High cheekbones emphasized a dainty chin and her lips… well… in truth, they were quite sensual, the bottom lip being fuller than the top.

  She was far from vain having lived in Fioretta’s shadow. Her sister had been renowned for her beauty—sought after by the greatest artists, including Botticelli. Viviana paled in comparison. She’d seen herself often through Angelo, but the boy hardly focused on anything long enough to study. And her young friend never looked at her the way Laird Kraig did.

  She felt intoxicated by his attention. Like the weightless sensation one feels after too many goblets of wine.

  Slowly, he drew his gaze over her jaw, the column of her neck, the hollow set in her collarbone, and then straight to her breasts.

  “M’laird, please,” she chided, but in a soft voice, while a blush crept over her skin. The man seemed genuinely attracted to her. At the very least, he held a certain fascination for her breasts. A swirling heat gathered between her legs. A burning she’d never known with either of her previous husbands.

  “Forgive me. I fear I cannae help myself.” His eyes blinked shut, casting her into darkness. He tucked her beneath his chin and pressed his cheek against her hair.

  Her hand settled on his waist where his tunic tucked into his braies. Rock solid strength lay beneath her fingertips. She should be frightened by his size and his closeness, but she wasn’t. In truth, she wanted to explore his physique, wanted to touch his face and become more familiar with his image. What color were his eyes? His skin? There was so much she wanted to know about him, but was afraid to ask. However, one question had niggled its way into her head and never left. “M’laird?”

  “Hmmm…” He gently massaged her neck in soothing circles.

  “Why did you not leave Firenze the night Lorenzo gave you the amulet?”

  His fingers stilled, but only briefly. “I couldnae verra well leave before my wedding.” He smiled against her hair, but when she didn’t respond, he added, “I dinnae want to take your eyes from ye, and I thought ye would make me a good wife.”

  He was the chieftain of his clan. Were there not women in Scotland more suited to his station? More sighted women?

  Just as she might have badgered him with questions, he nuzzled into her neck and inhaled. “Ye smell good.”

  “I just bathed,” she reminded him, soliciting a chuckle. The man smelled equally as pleasant this day. He must have disposed of the last of his licorice for he smelled of pine and mist.

  “Are ye ready then?” he asked, yet made no move to release her from what was becoming a rather intimate embrace.

  She hesitated, liking the way he held her, but eventually found her tongue. “I am.”

  His eyes opened, and she caught a glimpse of the brook over her shoulder before his gaze settled on her wet undergarment piled in a heap beside the towel at her feet.

  “What is that?” The impatient edge returned to his tone.

  Mayhap the amulet empowered her boldness, but part of her wanted to test his strength. “My undergarment,” she answered with a nonchalance that tightened the muscles in his forearm beneath her hand.

  “If your undergarment is on the ground, then what, pray tell, are ye wearing beneath your gown, m’lady?”

  She raised her face to him and grinned, but not too wide. “Niente. Not a stitch. I suppose I’m as bare as the woman in your song.”

  “Shite!” she heard him say beneath his breath as she gathered her belongings and walked through the grasses toward the sound of Remi’s bellowing voice.

  * * *

  “Nine days,” he grumbled and watched the hizzie practically skip up the knoll. I can wait nine days. Taveon swiped the sweat gathering on the back of his neck. The woman had him fawning over her like some addle-brained laddie who awoke every morn with a piss-stiff cock. And was it really so difficult for her to fasten her buttons correctly?

  He shook off his lust and caught up to her in six strides just as she might have tripped over a fallen log. He reached for her hand and quickly looked down.

  She paused, then stepped over the rotted wood with ease.

  “Think ye should be a wee bit more cautious about your footing?”

  “I have tripped over more obstacles than you have hairs on your arms. I know how to catch myself in a fall. Do not worry yourself overmuch.”

  Taveon forced his gaze on the terrain, wanting her to trust him to guide her. The woman was too independent. To trip over a fallen log might gain her a bruised knee or mayhap skinned palms, but if she were to wander off on his land, she was liable to step right off the edge of a cliff.

  That thought did little to settle his nerves, and brought about memories he had no desire to recall this day.

  Worry made him shudder. He decided then and there, he and his kinsmen would build fences at the edge of every cliff. He intended to map out his ground and make certain she was familiar with every patch of grass before he gave her permission to leave the keep.

  They stepped onto the road beside the carriage where Remi held a trough of steaming partridge and oatcakes smothered in cherry sauce. “Are ye hungry, m’lady?”

  “Sì. Sì. Grazie, Signore Remi.” She traded her undergarment and toiletries for the trough of food as if Remi were her new maidservant.

  Remi held up the threadbare undertunic with a thumb and finger on each shoulder and gave it a shake.

  Ouish! Just when Taveon managed to get his cock to simmer down, Remi reminded him of her state of undress. Taveon gave Remi no time to form a lewd remark. “Mount up, Remi,” he ordered and opened the carriage door for Viviana.

  “M’laird.” Remi stayed him and pointed beneath the carriage. “Are ye forgetting the visitor who crawled into our camp just before dawn?”

  “Crawled? Was he injured?” Viviana asked around a mouthful of food.

  The woman’s antics had his mind so far removed, Taveon nearly forgot about the beastie. He crouched low and patted his knee.

  Whimpering with his head hung low, Miocchi crept out from beneath the car
riage.

  “It seems Miocchi refused to be left behind.”

  Viviana dropped her trough of food to the ground and fell to her knees. Her gown billowed around her in a puddle of purple silk. “Miocchi,” she cried and hugged the dog’s thick neck.

  “Yap!” Miocchi’s tail whipped side to side as he licked the tears from her cheeks.

  Viviana’s bliss reminded him of Makayla; high-energy, excited to the point of trembling. His daughter had reacted in like the day Cora-Rose gave her the white kitten. His smile fell a little at the memory of similar tears flowing over Poppet’s sweet cheeks when the beast died.

  With an aching heart, Taveon squatted beside Viviana. He touched her arm and looked at her beloved pet to reassure her of his wellness. “‘Twas wrong of me to leave him behind.”

  To his surprise, she released Miocchi and wrapped her arms around Taveon’s neck with a force that nearly knocked him over. She kissed his cheeks, then smashed her lips against his mouth. “Oh, grazie, m’laird. Grazie.”

  He reveled in her gratitude, regardless of how undeserving he was. He curled one hand around her waist to return her embrace and dreaded the day he would have to console her. If he wasn’t careful, she could slip past his guard and into his heart the same way Makayla had.

  He swallowed, and forced himself to recall the single most reason why he couldn’t let that happen; Da’s love for Janetta ultimately destroyed him.

  Over Viviana’s shoulder, Remi dabbed furiously at his blinking eyes. Meghan had turned him into a tender-hearted dunderheid. Monroe was no stronger. He watched them from the fire, and the expression on his face was one Taveon had seen only on rare event; dark brows smoothed in awe and a proud smile pushing the scar back on his whiskered cheek.

  These men were Clan Kraig’s trained warriors?

  The milksops had already let Viviana soften them. He expected it of Remi, but not Monroe.

  After long moments, Viviana unfolded her arms from around his neck and returned her attentions back to her pet. “Miocchi is obedient. He will not be a nuisance or an added expense.” With splayed fingers, she searched the ground for any morsel of food that had fallen from her trough. She held a piece of meat beneath Miocchi’s nose. “Eat.”

  Only after her command did the dog lap up the bite.

  “I will keep him quiet and share my food with him.” She found part of an oatcake flipped upside down in the grass and fed it to the dog as well.

  “‘Tis his food.” Taveon craned his neck to see her better. “Where do ye think the bird came from?”

  “From him?” Her eyes were wide and frantic. “He is a good dog, m’laird. He was a gift from the sultan of Egypt and has been trained to hunt and to act on my every command. Whatever food portions you have rationed for me, I will give to him.” She stroked his ears with trembling hands and fed him every last crumb she could find on the ground.

  Albeit, he hadn’t known her long enough to name her moods, he admitted to being caught unguarded by her submissiveness. “Viviana, I’ll not have ye starving yourself for the dog.” Taveon glanced toward the fire. “Monroe, warm up the other bird.”

  “That is not necessary, m’laird. I’ll hardly waste away. Save it for the noontide meal. I can go days on one of those oatcakes.” She spoke the latter fact with a hint of pride.

  “How would ye know this?” Taveon was suddenly disturbed by her behavior and her comment.

  “My first husband, Radolfo, often restricted me to one small meal a day, especially during times when we were expected to make appearances at political gatherings.”

  Taveon scowled. Not only had Radolfo been unfaithful, he’d starved her. Taveon wouldn’t say the words aloud, but he was glad the bastard was dead. This new bit into her past might explain why she poured herself into gowns not tailored for her shape. Viviana was easily the most bull-headed woman he’d ever met. Her husband must have degraded her with harsh words to convince her she needed to refrain from eating.

  Taveon pulled her to her feet and carefully prepared his words. “I can assure ye, I will not be restricting your food.” He tucked her hair behind her dainty ear. “Ye are headed for Scotland. A woman needs a certain amount of meat on her bones to survive the winter. ‘Tis true. Would ye agree, Remi?” He gave Remi a look that said he would pull the limbs from his body if the eedgit answered incorrectly.

  “S’truth, m’laird.”

  “Mayhap ye should fix m’lady another oatcake and put extra cherry sauce on it.”

  “Aye, m’laird.” Remi swiveled quickly and set to his task.

  Taveon put one finger over her mouth, trapping her argument inside. When he flushed her up against him, her hand curled around his wrist and her dark brows shot up. He splayed his palm over her shapely hip and leaned into her ear. “I happen to like you just the way ye are. And I’ll not have ye starving yourself before I get a chance to see your curves in the flesh.” His hand slid from her hip to her thigh and squeezed the same moment he sampled her earlobe.

  She gasped. “M’laird.”

  He chuckled and ushered her into the carriage with a gentle shove against her backside that gained him another gasp.

  Miocchi trembled against his shin and stared into the carriage with big gray eyes. He’d traveled a great distance thus far and would ride alongside her this day.

  “Up ye go.”

  The dog leapt into the carriage and sat with his chest puffed out on the seat beside her. Viviana’s smile warmed him inside and out.

  Guard your heart, son. Da had taught him from the time he was old enough to talk. Taveon suddenly thought that task might be easier said than done. He scratched Miocchi’s ears. “Protect her laddie, lest I have a mind to ravish her at noontide.”

  Chapter 9

  Viviana felt very wicked indeed.

  Chewing on the side of her lip, she twirled the wedding band on her finger that felt a little more familiar this day. She swayed with the motion of the carriage as she studied the vision inside her head. Laird Kraig looked positively succulent atop his steed—naked. He stared at her with deep blue eyes, or were they green? It didn’t matter. He was naked. Mayhap the fact she wasn’t wearing undergarments was why she’d managed to work herself into a tizzy envisioning her new husband in the flesh outside the carriage window.

  It was a fine fantasy. Sculpted muscles glistened with a sheen of sweat. His thighs and thick calves rippled as he guided the black stallion onward. And, oh, the man was well-endowed.

  Truly a living masterpiece.

  Laird Kraig had been in her thoughts since that morn when he’d nibbled on her ear and threatened to ravish her. For hours now, he’d hummed cheerfully outside her window while she stripped him of his garments in her head. She’d pictured him on his horse—naked. On the bench seat across from her—naked. And then on the bench seat beside her—naked.

  God save her, but by noontide she was naked with him, and oh, what the man could do with his tongue was deliciously sinful.

  Mannaggia! Moisture gathered between her crossed legs and perspiration made her breasts stick to her ribs. She fanned her face. Never had she brought herself to such arousal with thoughts of her previous husbands. While she once thought Radolfo might satisfy her early in their marriage, he never concerned himself with her needs and always finished the deed moments after he started.

  “Would ye mind if I sat a spell, m’lady?”

  Viviana snapped her shoulders back, startled by Remi’s voice.

  “My arse needs a wee bit o’ relief.” He spoke through the window, and she could only assume he stood on the footstep of the moving carriage.

  Remi would free her from her lust-filled thoughts. She smiled and nodded, thankful for the company. The door swung open and Miocchi’s movements became anxious beside her. “Out.”

  The dog left her side, and Remi took his place with a loud exhale. “Good, den, m’lady.”

  She couldn’t see his smile, but knew it was there. “Good den, Signore Remi.”
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  “I see ye are still wearing my bracelet.”

  Viviana had plenty of baubles, but none of them were gifts from the heart. “I am.”

  Horse hooves clomped outside her window. She felt Laird Kraig’s gaze on her. The carriage provided no buffer from his attraction. Her cheeks heated. Thank the Lord in Heaven the man couldn’t see her thoughts.

  “What do ye think ye are doing?” The lilt of jealousy touched Laird Kraig’s voice and made Viviana giddy inside. Neither of her first two husbands ever made such a fuss over her.

  “Ye gods.” Remi’s hair brushed her arm as he leaned over her to look at Laird Kraig through the opposite window. Thankfully the man had bathed as he was practically lying in her lap. “Am I not allowed to speak to m’lady?”

  “Ye are allowed, just mind your tongue and dinnae be eyeing her favors.” Laird Kraig paced his steed at a trot beside the carriage. The two men bickered like a pair of old hens. They were more entertaining than the jesters at the palace.

  Remi leaned forward to rummage through the bench seat opposite them. He tossed a soft wool blanket on her lap then continued his search.

  “What are you about, Signore Remi?”

  “I know I saw a… here ‘tis.” Remi settled back beside her and snatched the wool from her lap. “Once we reach the mountains, your beastie will be in need of a heavier coat. I thought I might make him one until he can adjust to a colder climate.”

  “Ouish!” Laird Kraig most likely rolled his eyes or some other annoying habit she had yet to pinpoint.

  She ignored his foul mood and sat up straighter, eager to help Remi. “What can I do?”

  The frayed edge of the blanket filled her hands. “Pull the threads apart and tie the ends together so I can run them through the loop. My Meghan’s the weaver, but I can work a hook and wool almost as fast.”

  “Meghan is your wife?”

  “Aye. And the mother of my bairns.” The pride in his voice caused a twinge of longing to burn behind her breast.