The smell would hang in the air for days.
“A bit o’ bloodletting ne’er hurt any man.” Kendrew rolled his shoulders, brushed a few sprigs of meadowsweet off his sleeve. “Could be I knocked some sense into him. At the least, he knows he’s no’ welcome here.”
“He knew that before,” Marjory reminded him.
“Did I no’ say he’s daft?” Kendrew strode over to the fire to warm his hands. “How can he no’ be? Accusing us of sailing round in pitch-coated longboats, whetting our ax heads as we approach his shores. Black Vikings, come a-raiding. Speaking of the Norse”—he shot a look at Marjory—“why did you return so early? Weren’t you with old widow Hella? Thought you’d be at her cottage all the day, listening to her blether. Or did you know MacDonald was coming?”
“She couldn’t know that.” Isobel went over to him, began dabbing flecks of blood from his beard with a napkin. “She—”
“I ken the two of you. Aye scheming, you are.” Kendrew snatched the napkin and tossed it aside. “Dinnae deny it for you cannae.”
Isobel hooked her arm through his, leaning into him. “Even if it’s true, I’ve not heard too many complaints from you.”
“Humph.” Kendrew frowned. The kind of scowl he wore when Isobel maneuvered him into a corner. A place he apparently enjoyed, for he slid his arm around her, drawing her close. “I only want the best for my sister. The MacDonald is no’ the man for her.”
“To be sure, he isn’t,” Isobel agreed, sending a quick wink to Marjory. “We all know that.”
Kendrew’s frown vanished. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Of course, men can change…” Isobel smoothed back his hair, adjusted his plaid, her voice soothing. “Look how you—”
“Dinnae compare me with a brine drinker.” Kendrew’s voice hardened and he took his wife’s wrists, lowering her hands from his chest. He turned to Marjory, suspicious again. “I’ll hear why you came back so soon. If your visit to old Hella had aught to do with Blackshore, if it was a ruse, I’ll—”
“Hella wasn’t there.” Marjory spoke true. “And she isn’t old, just widowed.”
“Could be I’ve forgotten.” Kendrew reached down to scratch Gronk’s head when the dog came to sit beside him. “That woman goes on so many rambles I scarce take note of her. I’ve no’ seen her in ages.”
Just then the hem of Marjory’s cloak stirred and a tiny black nose appeared, quickly followed by a small white paw. Then the dog’s entire brown-and-white face emerged, his friendly brown gaze honing in on Kendrew.
He looked down at the tiny dog, taking a backward step. “Dinnae think to do it, laddie. My boots aren’t in need of watering.”
Peering up, Hercules gave him a long, intense stare before disappearing once more behind Marjory’s skirts.
“If you wouldn’t glower at him, he’d leave you be.” Marjory lifted her chin, her mind racing. Alasdair would soon be at the bottom of the cliff stair, riding away.
Kendrew kept grumbling about Hercules, his words seeming to come from a great distance.
Marjory heard only the thundering of her heart. Then the loud thunk as one of the guards dropped the door’s drawbar in place, barring the hall from intruders. Unwanted guests like Alasdair and his men.
After such a fracas, Kendrew would watch her even more carefully. Her chances of meeting Alasdair alone, of seducing him, would diminish greatly.
Her insides went cold at the prospect.
Kendrew was still fussing about her dog. “You’ve trained the wee bugger to devil me.” He flashed a glance at her hem where Hercules’s little black nose was peeking into view again. “You, my only sister who ought to know I aye have your best interests at heart. Rather than thank me, you—”
“I’ll take him to my room.” Marjory had no intention of doing so. But she did scoop Hercules into her arms and head in that direction.
She just pushed through the crowd until she was sure Kendrew could no longer see her and then veered toward a certain shadowy corner. Once there, she set down Hercules and slid her hand beneath a moth-eaten wolf pelt on the wall. With outstretched fingers, she searched for a loose stone that, when pressed, opened Nought’s least-used secret passage. It was the original cliff stair, ruined in a rockslide over three hundred years before.
Marjory doubted even Kendrew knew it existed.
She’d discovered the stair as a child when she’d enjoyed hiding behind the hanging wolf-and bearskins to spy on the late-night festivities in the hall. Her shoulder had accidentally bumped the access rock and the great stone door had groaned open, revealing its dark, cobwebby secrets. She’d learned the rest from an old clanswoman who’d been fond of her and, Marjory later discovered, had used the passage in her youth to tryst with her lover.
Marjory intended to do the same.
Alasdair might not be her lover, but she did mean to win his heart. Nor was she averse to doing whatever such a feat required of her.
Truth be told, she looked forward to such encounters.
His kisses only whet her appetite for more. And as her intentions were surely noble, she saw no shame in pursuing his attentions.
So she bit her lip, concentrating, as she felt along the wall. The stone was cold and damp, hard and not giving, until at last her thumb rubbed across the raised, rough-edged rock that was so different from the rest. Relief sweeping her, she pushed the rock.
A low groan rewarded her. The telltale grinding of stone on stone as the hidden door slowly opened, revealing the passage beyond.
“Come.” Marjory whispered the command to Hercules as she stepped into the chilly darkness, the ancient stair so familiar she didn’t need a torch.
Even if she had, ruined as the passage was, enough light trickled through cracks in the rock walls to allow anyone to descend the narrow steps without too great a risk of slipping.
Hercules bounded ahead of her, racing down the steps as if they were playing a game.
Marjory hurried after him, hoping only to catch Alasdair before he reached the guardhouse at the base of Nought’s main cliff stair.
From long practice, she ducked cobwebs and slowed her steps where she knew fallen rumble made the stairs treacherous. She listened for the sound of trickling water, careful on the patches made slick by damp and moss. Then, just when she was sure the well-manned guardhouse would loom up before her, its back wall marking the end of the old passage, she caught the murmur of men’s voices and the sound of masculine feet tromping down the main stair.
She quickened her own steps, recognizing one deep voice above the others.
Alasdair was just ahead of her.
And her timing couldn’t have been better, for a long-forgotten niche loomed near, hewn into the rock wall of the old passage. Either an ancient storeroom or a wind shelter for erstwhile guards, the tiny room was well protected from the elements, and from prying eyes.
Marjory hastened down the last few steps and then paused to catch her breath.
She shivered badly.
But the prickling sensation was from excitement, not the cold.
If this was to be her only opportunity to be alone with Alasdair, she would do her damndest to make the best of it. Her very life and happiness hung on what she was about to do. She just hoped Alasdair would be receptive.
“Blackshore, wait!”
“Marjory?” Alasdair turned on the cliff stair, his jaw slipping to see her a dozen steps above him. Wind tore at her hair and although she clutched her blood-red cloak to her breast, he could see a hint of her bosom, the MacDonald ambers gleaming at her throat. Mist swirled everywhere and torchlight from farther up the steps cast a halo around her, revealing her shapeliness and letting her appear like a living flame, seductive and alluring. She beckoned him in a way that made his entire body tighten.
She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling beneath her cloak. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted.
Alasdair knew she’d only hastened from the hall, yet she look
ed as if she’d just risen from a mussed bed, still roused and excited from love play.
The thought set him like granite and he swore, ordering his men to remain where they were before he bounded up the steps to stand before her.
He gripped her shoulders, shaking his head as he looked at her. “You shouldn’t have come after me. It was dangerous to do so.”
He didn’t say he posed the threat, knowing she’d assume he meant her brother.
“Kendrew thinks I’m in my room.” She held his gaze, unblinking. “I had to speak to you, alone.”
“We are hardly that, my lady.” Alasdair didn’t release her. As always, her scent bewitched him, the temptation of her nearness hitting him like a blow to the chest. His heart thundered and he’d wager anything that hers pounded just as fiercely.
It was all he could do not to kiss her again, their audience be damned.
There were onlookers, even if to their left, where the cliff path fell away into nothingness, little could be seen but thick whirling mist.
Elsewhere…
Alasdair didn’t care. Lifting his hand, he trailed his knuckles along the softness of her cheek and then down the smooth line of her neck, noting how her pulse quickened beneath his touch.
“If you look behind and above you”—he stepped closer and leaned toward her—“your brother’s guardhouse is well-manned. My warriors are but a few steps below us. I wouldnae say we’re no’ observed, sweet.”
“We shall be in here.” She drew him off the stair and behind a jutting rock that looked like part of the cliff face.
In truth, the outcrop hid a deep and narrow niche in the rock wall, forming an alcove that must’ve been used as a guardhouse or storeroom in earlier centuries. It stood empty now, the tight space filled with nothing but cold, the damp, and shadows.
It was a sheltered place, well shielded from the main cliff stair. The cavelike niche also offered absolute protection from prying eyes.
Alasdair’s men wouldn’t disturb them here.
Nought’s guards hadn’t seen them slip inside the secret place. Alarm horns would’ve blasted if they had. Marjory had spoken true.
They were alone.
Thick mist blowing past the opening did the rest, sealing them away from the outside world. Torchlight slanted in through a crack in the rock ceiling, casting a sheen on Marjory’s hair. Each strand shimmered as if dusted with diamonds. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her cloak had opened, offering glimpses of her pearly skin, stirring images of even more bared flesh. Her nakedness pressed hard against his own, their bodies entwined.
Alasdair drew a tight breath, his pulse racing. Just looking at her made him forget every reason he shouldn’t desire her. Masculine awareness thrummed the entire length of him, warning that even if he did remember, he no longer cared.
The time for restraint had passed.
“This was no’ wise, sweet.” He moved closer to her, slowly shaking his head, his gaze steady on hers. “I warned you. Now it’s too late.” He placed his hands on the rock wall behind her and leaned in, trapping her within his arms. “I’ve run dry of warnings.”
“Perhaps I do not need them?” She straightened to her full height, squaring her shoulders so that her breasts were displayed to advantage.
She also let her gaze glide from his face down over his plaid-draped chest and then to where his sword belt was slung low around his hips. It was a deliberate assessing that only fired his blood, stirring very wicked thoughts and causing his loins to throb.
As every time their paths crossed, her hair tumbled in fetching disarray to her waist. Her gown hugged the curve of her hips and her nipples were chill-tightened. They pressed against her bodice, an unbearable enticement. And her luscious, parted lips only served to remind him how thoroughly kissable she was.
Alasdair bit back a groan.
She remained perfectly still, almost daring him to admire her.
She tilted her head, her blue gaze seemingly innocent. “I wished only to speak with you.”
“A man could think you wished to seduce him.” Alasdair gave her a slow smile, knew heat burned in his gaze. The blazing passion she ignited in him, unleashed. “Is that it, Norn? Did you drag me in here with seduction in mind?”
Her eyes widened, and even in the dimness, he could tell her cheeks colored. But she kept her chin raised. She also didn’t deny the suggestion.
She glanced at the billowing mist and then at him. “I know you didn’t come here just to question Kendrew about black-painted longships. Everyone knows we aren’t a seafaring clan. You had another reason. I’d like to hear it.” She stepped closer, her breasts brushing his chest, the intimate touch making him want her desperately.
Before he could answer, there was a rustling at the hem of her skirts. A low grrr as her little dog, Hercules, crept from behind her skirts. A tiny beast with four white legs and a brown saddle and face, Hercules had floppy ears and seemed to enjoy baring his teeth. Yet despite his grumbles, he wagged his tail.
“Hercules.” Alasdair looked down at him, glad for the distraction.
He did love dogs.
And he’d never met one who didn’t take to him. He also wouldn’t mind keeping this one occupied. Dogs were known to be protective and Hercules clearly loved his mistress. Alasdair was also fond of her. And just now, he didn’t need interference from her four-legged companion.
Clearly of a different mind, Hercules lifted a lip and growled again.
“See here, laddie.” Alasdair dipped into his leather belt pouch for a suitably small twist of dried meat. “I have something for you.” Producing the treat, he reached down, extending the tidbit from his fingers.
“You shouldn’t feed him.” Marjory gripped his wrist, stopping him. “He—”
“He’s a fine wee lad.” Alasdair shook free, eyeing the dog.
“He is himself.” Marjory frowned at her pet. “He just isn’t used to those he doesn’t know.”
Alasdair tried to waylay her fears. “He has no reason to fear me. I love dogs and they aye know it.”
Hercules took two steps toward him, indicating that was so. Marjory stood as still as a pillar, watching him. She’d raised a hand to her lips, uncomfortable. Alasdair dropped to one knee, hoping to ease her mind as he again offered Hercules the twist of dried meat.
The dog came closer, pausing a few feet from Alasdair. Hercules kept his gaze on the treat, his expression intent. His tail wagged slowly.
Alasdair smiled, triumphant.
“Hercules!” Marjory cried out the instant Hercules shot forward, ignoring the treat to make a sailing leap for Alasdair’s ankle.
The bite was swift. It stung more than it hurt. And it did draw blood.
“Oh no!” Marjory lunged for Hercules, but her fingers closed on air as he bolted away to dash in a circle around the little room.
“It’s nothing,” Alasdair lied, feeling as if someone was jabbing his lower leg with a fistful of fiery, razor-sharp needles.
Worse, Hercules streaked around Alasdair’s still-kneeling form and attacked his other ankle. And this time he wasn’t snapping.
The dog’s cocked leg warned of a more devious intent.
“Whoa, laddie!” Alasdair shot to his feet, colliding with Marjory as she dashed forward to grab Hercules. But instead of capturing her pet, her arms slid around Alasdair. They knocked together, Hercules flitting away with the twist of beef that had fallen from Alasdair’s fingers.
Alasdair gripped Marjory’s waist, steadying her. “Are you hurt?”
“No…” She glanced down, her eyes widening at the blood on his ankle. “But Hercules bit—”
“He was playing.” Alasdair excused the wee beastie. “It’s a scratch, no more.”
Marjory didn’t look convinced. “You are generous.”
“Sweet lass, you dinnae want to know what I am.” His gaze slid downward to her breasts. Lush and ripe, her silken curves promised forbidden delights. Desire speared him, buzzing in h
is head, roaring through his veins. “Nor should you learn what you do to me.”
She eyed him up and down, lifted her hands to cup his face. “And if I say otherwise?”
“You’d be asking for trouble.” Alasdair already had his own with all thought of duty, honor, and loyalty vanquished by her sparkling blue eyes and the way her shining hair spilled about her shoulders. How her tightly cut bodice shaped her breasts, wicked and scintillating. Sensual, womanly heat poured off her, rousing him so thoroughly even his conscience fled. “A man is only so strong, lass.”
She leaned in closer. “Is that why you’re here? To prove your strength, to—”
“You heard why I came.” Alasdair could hardly breathe, his heart thudding. Then she blinked and her eyes reminded him of his other reason.
He’d almost forgotten.
“There was another reason, aye.” He stepped back and reached inside his plaid, retrieving a golden ring. He held it out to her, its sapphire glittering in the dimness. “I believe this is yours?”
“My ring…” Her brows lifted and she took the ring, closing her fingers around it, pressing it to her heart. “It was my grandmother’s and her grandmother’s before her. A family treasure. Where did you find it?” Her voice was thick, her fingers shaking as she slipped on the ring. “I lost it the day of the harvest fair.” She looked up, seeming nervous. “How did you—”
“I took it from the man who had it.” A muscle twitched in Alasdair’s jaw, remembering. He burned to question her—he’d seen the Viking Groat leave the joy women’s encampment—but her face had softened and when she turned her huge blue eyes on him he couldn’t upset her. Seeing her so vulnerable did worse things to him than his desire for her. His chest tightened and a fierce wave of protectiveness swept him. That, a strange, unsettling ache inside him that he wasn’t about to consider too deeply.
Whatever it was pained his heart.
Seduction Of A Highland Warrior Page 12
