Seduction Of A Highland Warrior

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  He leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek.

  Any moment he’d kiss her. A hot and ravenous kiss, full of passion.

  Sure of it, she splayed her fingers across his plaid, aware of his warmth, the hard, steady beat of his heart. She moistened her lips in readiness, waiting. She almost closed her eyes, but didn’t.

  She wanted the triumph of seeing him lower his mouth to hers.

  “I would ask you to send me word if ever you see anything strange at Nought.” He spoke bluntly. He also gripped her wrist, lowering her hand from his chest. “Travelers who might not be what they seem or”—he straightened—“a shifting in shadows when nothing is there. I do no’ trust your brother’s instincts.” He spoke briskly, all chiefly business. “I believe you’d notice a threat faster.”

  “I see.” Marjory did. And she didn’t like what she saw.

  She’d flattered herself.

  Alasdair hadn’t drawn her into the bower to kiss her.

  He hoped to engage her watchfulness at Nought, the northernmost and least accessible corner of the glen. In Mackintosh hands since time beginning, it was a forbidding place of sheer cliffs and deep gorges. Strange outcroppings and ancient cairns known as the dreagan stones lent Nought an air of mystery and danger. Few souls dared to tread there save her kinsmen.

  Many who did vowed they’d never return.

  Now and then, broken men and other undesirables attempted to slip through Nought unseen. As they rarely emerged, it was rumored Nought’s dreagans stalked and ate them.

  Or so clan graybeards liked to claim, boasting that the stony-scaled beasties believed to sleep beneath the dreagan cairns wouldn’t tolerate the passage of evildoers on sacred clan lands.

  Just now Marjory wished a dreagan would fire-blast Alasdair.

  She didn’t want to be a useful set of eyes.

  “I see no cause for such concern.” She kept her tone as cool as his. “I walk Nought’s battlements often and have seen nothing move except mist and falling rock. I know you send patrols into Nought. We all know it, even if you think we don’t. So now you tire of the bother and would have me do the watching for you?”

  “Sakes, nae.” He gripped her shoulders, giving her a look that burned right through her. “I’d only know if you feel threatened. Don’t ever put yourself in danger. Promise me you’ll do nothing so foolhardy.”

  “I never do anything foolish.” Marjory broke free, brushing her skirts. “I’m a Mackintosh.” She raised her chin, speaking with pride. “We fear nothing.”

  “Mackintoshes are also known for their stubbornness.” Alasdair swatted at his own sleeve, a muscle working in his jaw. “You’re a thrawn folk. Stone-willed and unbending. Your brother is the worst. His wits don’t reach past the head of his broadax.” He paused, his scorn palpable. “Knowing him, he’d no’ recognize—”

  “Knowing me, you must be tired of life to stand so near my sister.” Kendrew strode up to them, scowling darkly. A big, rough-hewn man, he looked even more fearsome in full war gear, a sword at his belt and his huge war ax slung across his back. “Or were you just after having your bones trampled?”

  “I owe you a scar, Mackintosh.” Alasdair rubbed his left arm, his tone low and menacing. “Dinnae think I’ll hesitate to give you a bigger one.”

  “You had your chance at the trial by combat.”

  “I’d sooner fight you one on one. Name the day. I’m ready now.”

  “Alasdair! Kendrew!” Marjory rushed between them to press her hands against their chests. “This isn’t the place for a ruckus. You’re already drawing eyes.”

  “Nae, you are.” Kendrew scowled at her. “Consorting with a web-footed brine drinker, a man better suited to scrape barnacles off his leaky galleys than stain your name by pulling you into a bower.”

  “He didn’t pull me anywhere.” Marjory bristled. “I go where I please.”

  “You’ll no’ be lying to me.” Kendrew’s eyes narrowed. “He played the gallant, fetching your ribbon when you dropped it and even daring to touch your hair. Dinnae deny it. You know I have eyes and ears everywhere. And you”—he shot a look at Alasdair—“will be missing your fingers next time you—”

  “Stand back, Norn.” Alasdair drew his sword, whipping it up so the tip hovered at Kendrew’s nose. “I could take off your face before you knew I’d cut you. Insult your sister again, if you dinnae believe me.”

  Kendrew reddened. “It’s you insulting her, soiling her reputation with your unwanted presence. Leave her be. I warn you.”

  “I speak to whoe’er I will. Though I’ll no’ frighten her by fighting you here.” Alasdair swept his blade downward, ramming the sword point into the ground. “We’ll meet again on another day, that I vow.”

  “Alasdair, please…” Marjory stepped between them again. “He doesn’t mean—”

  “I ne’er say a word I don’t mean.” Kendrew kept his stare fixed on Alasdair. “I ken what’s best for my sister. Aye, we’ll clash swords elsewhere. When we do, you’re a dead man, brine drinker.”

  “I’ll count the hours.” Alasdair yanked his sword from the ground, shoving it into its sheath. “They’ll be few if the gods are kind.”

  “My gods will eat you and spit out your bones.” Kendrew spoke loudly, grinning when the men behind him—his guards—snarled a few slurs of their own.

  “Enough.” Marjory threw a look at them, silencing them with a well-practiced narrowing of her eyes.

  Kendrew grinned, apparently pleased by the ruckus.

  Ignoring them all, Alasdair drew a coin from a pouch at his belt and flipped it to the gaping stall-holder. “For the lady’s silk ribbon.” He nodded at Marjory. “And any other trinkets she desires.”

  Turning to her, he took her hand and loosely wrapped the blue silk ribbon around her wrist. “Remember what I told you.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice, even bending to kiss her hand again.

  Beside them, Kendrew snorted. “Forgetting you is what she’ll be doing.”

  He would’ve said more, Marjory knew, but his wife, Isobel, joined them then, hooking her arm through his. And—Marjory noted with appreciation—clamping her foot on Kendrew’s booted toes.

  The two women exchanged telling glances.

  Catching the look, Kendrew frowned first at his wife and then at Marjory. “Dinnae think to try your scheming. I’ll hurl every stone at Nought in your path if you do. No sister of mine will wed a MacDonald.”

  “There’s no danger of that.” Marjory took care to speak lightly.

  She also spoke the truth, only wishing Alasdair could’ve heard how easily she dismissed the possibility.

  But he was gone.

  Already a good twelve paces away, he moved briskly through the crowd, leaving her to stare after him as he disappeared into the throng.

  “Good riddance.” Kendrew folded his arms, looking pleased.

  Marjory and Isobel ignored him until he strode off in the company of his bearded, ax-carrying guardsmen.

  “He’ll never change.” Marjory slipped the blue ribbon from her wrist, tucking it into her bodice.

  “I hope he doesn’t.” Isobel’s tone revealed how besotted she was with her husband.

  Marjory glanced at her, feeling a pang to see that her friend actually glowed, her face softening as she watched Kendrew walk away.

  “You really love him, don’t you?” She put a hand on Isobel’s arm.

  “Madly, I do.” Isobel beamed. “Wait until Alasdair comes round.” She patted Marjory’s hand, speaking with all the confidence of a woman well-loved. “Then you’ll see—”

  “I’ve seen plenty this morn.” Marjory wished it weren’t so. “Alasdair is different. He’s not the same man who left here a year ago. I scarcely recognized him.”

  Isobel’s smile didn’t waver. “He certainly recognized you.”

  “He is aye attentive to women.” Marjory tightened her shawl about her shoulders, feeling a chill. “Any woman. In that, he hasn’t changed.�
��

  “You are not any woman.” Isobel glanced to where Alasdair had vanished. “Kendrew isn’t the only one with eyes and ears everywhere. I saw how Alasdair watched you before he joined you at the cloth stall. And”—she tilted her head, her dark eyes twinkling—“I didn’t miss the annoyance on his face when he walked away just now.”

  “To be sure he was annoyed. Kendrew provoked him beyond all reason.”

  Isobel lifted a brow. “Do you truly think a battle-hardened warrior would let a few angry words get to him? Is it not more likely that you turn Alasdair’s blood to smoke, driving him to recklessness?”

  Marjory considered.

  Sadly, she disagreed with her friend. Isobel hadn’t heard him ask her to keep an eye on Nought, informing him if suspicious wayfarers entered Mackintosh territory.

  That was why he’d drawn her into the bower.

  She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  “You know it is true.” Isobel took her arm, leading her toward the cook stalls. “Alasdair wants you, and badly. He always has. He just needs to accept that truth. He will come for you when he does.”

  “You do not know him as I do.” Marjory paused before a fish stall, eyeing a row of skewered herring, golden brown and sizzling over a bed of smoldering coals. “He won’t forget I’m Kendrew’s sister. If he does harbor such feelings, they’ll only make him strengthen his defenses against me.”

  “Then you must tear them down.” Isobel turned the most sensible gaze on her. “The way to do that is clear. You must tempt him.”

  For a moment, Marjory could only stare at her friend.

  “I’m not a temptress.” She wouldn’t even consider it.

  Isobel laughed. “Ah, but you can be if you wished.” She nodded to the burly stall-holder, indicating she and Marjory would each take a spit-roasted herring. “You just have to use what nature gave you, that’s all. You can begin the next time you see Alasdair.”

  “He’s on his way to Blackshore. He’ll be busy, having been gone so long.”

  “He’ll be back. And sooner than you think, I’ll wager. Or”—she produced a coin to pay for their fish—“did you not know it’s impossible to chase a thirsting man from a spring?”

  “I am not a spring.”

  “Nae, you’re a woman.” Isobel smiled brightly. “And that’s even better.”

  Marjory just looked at her. “I do believe marriage has maddened you.”

  “So it has.” Isobel had the audacity to wink. “In the very best way, I’ll agree.”

  And as Marjory strove to keep a flush from blooming on her cheeks as she watched the stall-holder take their herring off the spits, she knew her friend’s influence must be affecting her. Because even before the man brought them the fish, she knew what she had to do.

  She’d seduce Alasdair.

  The only question was how and when.

  Chapter Two

  No one would ever make the mistake of claiming Marjory Mackintosh surrendered easily. In truth, she wasn’t at all wont to do so. Not ever, if she had any say in matters. Regrettably, as she stood with her friend Isobel in the festively decorated ladies’ bower at the harvest fair, she felt dangerously near to admitting defeat.

  The possibility rankled. She’d never been thwarted.

  Yet here she was, surrounded by chattering clanswomen, sipping watered wine and nibbling oatcakes when she should be plying her wiles on Alasdair. Enchanting him with her wit, seducing him with her womanly charm, as Isobel kept informing her. A wee wriggle of the hip and bounce of the bosom and he’d lose his head, her good-sister insisted.

  Perhaps that was even so.

  Isobel should know.

  Hadn’t she won Kendrew with the fine art of feminine persuasion? Now, after all was said and done, a soul would be hard-pressed to find a husband more ridiculously in love with his wife than her brother.

  Marjory’s heart squeezed, remembering how Kendrew had pulled Isobel to him, kissing her hard and fast when he’d left them at the ladies’ bower. He’d also glanced back at her three times when he strode away with his men. No one could doubt how besotted he was. Or that his wife meant everything to him.

  Isobel clearly understood men.

  But could Marjory find success with her methods? Would a few glances from beneath lowered lashes and a brief but artful touch to her breast fire Alasdair’s blood, winning his undying affection?

  His love?

  Marjory was skeptical, but willing to try her seduction skills on him.

  Regrettably, he’d left the harvest fair hours ago.

  He’d sauntered away into the crowd, surely putting her from his mind as easily as he tossed his plaid over his shoulder. His remarkably broad and oh-so-appealing shoulders. Marjory frowned, his image flashing across her mind, burning into her heart. Unlike her brother, Alasdair hadn’t even looked back once.

  Damn him for an arrogant bastard.

  She wished a worse curse on Groat, the one-eyed, gold-earringed Viking courier who was also proving as scarce as winged sheep.

  Waving away a serving girl’s offer of more watered wine, she turned to her good-sister. “You’re certain our friend said he’d be here?”

  “Groat?” Isobel blinked.

  “Shhhh…” Marjory lowered her voice, certain that every woman in the bower just developed overly sensitive ears. “Of course, I mean him. I’ve searched everywhere and he simply isn’t here. You spoke with him before he left Nought. Perhaps you misunderstood?”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t have.” Isobel shook her head. “He made quite clear that he’d only hand over Kendrew’s missive if you met him at the fair and”—a touch of regret flickered across her face—“gave him the sapphire ring he saw you wearing at the high table.

  “He was adamant about the ring.” Isobel linked her arm with Marjory’s, leading her to a quiet corner of the garland-festooned tent. “Only then would he—”

  “I already gave him enough silver coin to keep him in cows and women for years.” Marjory flicked at her sleeve, her annoyance rising. “He promised to hand over Kendrew’s letter of agreement when you slipped him my own parchment declining his overlord’s terms for marriage.”

  Isobel looked uncomfortable. “I tried to reason with him. He refused after seeing your ring. He really wants it, so I’m sure he’s about somewhere.”

  “I’ve worn tracks in the mud traipsing past all the booths and stalls. I even visited the horse market and the weaponsmiths. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen and he’s not a man to be overlooked.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  Marjory shuddered, remembering how the huge Viking had pulled slowly on his earring, his one good eye glinting wickedly at the young kitchen lasses who’d served him at Nought’s high table.

  He clearly appreciated women as much as he hungered for gold.

  “I worried he’d demand a night with Maili.” Isobel spoke of Nought’s most light-skirted, men-loving laundress. “She did wink at him a few times, until he noticed your sapphire ring and lost interest in her.”

  “Greed always matters most to such men.”

  “Even so, I think Maili gave him an itch. She’s a comely lass and enjoys flaunting herself. She’ll have stirred certain flames in him.”

  “His lusts scarce concern me.” Marjory didn’t care if he desired a thousand serving lasses. She only wanted him to hand over Kendrew’s letter.

  “Ah, but maybe his itch does matter.” Isobel began tapping her chin. “Perhaps Maili started a fire he decided to quench here, at the market fair. There are other ladies’ bowers at the festival. They’re set back in the wood, away from prying eyes and very welcoming to men with certain needs.” Isobel smiled. “I’m betting you didn’t look there.”

  “To be sure, I didn’t.” Marjory felt herself coloring.

  “I think you should.” Isobel didn’t appear at all adverse to the idea.

  “What if someone sees me?”

  “What if Groat is there and you don’
t go, missing him?”

  “He’ll make haste back to his ship and deliver Kendrew’s agreement to his lord to spite me for not giving him my sapphire ring.”

  “That would be the way of it, I’m thinking.” Isobel nodded slowly.

  Marjory rested a hand over the small leather purse tied to her belt. She could feel the tiny, hard shape of her ring in its depths.

  It was a precious keepsake that had belonged to her grandmother and her grandmother before her.

  “I should gut him when he reaches for his payment.” Marjory was tempted. Her father had taught her how to defend herself as soon as she was able to hold a child’s dagger. She’d been a fast learner. “He should’ve been satisfied with the bag of coin I gave him.”

  “Aye, he should’ve been.” Isobel took her arm again, this time urging her toward the tent’s pinned-back entrance flap. “But he wasn’t. And if you dirked him, his shipmates would only come searching for him, causing even more trouble than losing your ring.”

  They stepped outside where the crowd was thinning, many visitors making for the cook stalls and refreshment booths for their evening supper. Even so, Marjory cast a hopeful glance up and down the fair’s main thoroughfare. Groat the Viking was nowhere to be seen.

  She took a deep breath. “You’ll have to keep Kendrew occupied if he comes for us before I return.”

  “Leave that to me.” Isobel winked and gave her a little nudge. “You’ll be the last thing on his mind, I promise.”

  Marjory didn’t doubt it.

  She also gave her friend a quick hug and then started down the thoroughfare, making for the dark line of trees at the far end of the market.

  If Groat was there, she’d find him.

  Even if she had to pry him from a joy woman’s arms.

  Fortune favors the bold. And, of late, she was feeling most daring.

  Damn the lass.

  And damn his clan’s ambers for resting so sweetly against her smooth, creamy skin. Alasdair scowled as he rode at the head of the long column of his men. Traveling as swiftly as possible through the thick piney woods that, to his mind, clogged Cameron territory, he and his party were making good time. Castle Haven and its harvest fair well behind them.