Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors)

by Phillips, Christina

  From the corner of her eye, she caught the sharp look Elise shot her. I told you. Her cousin’s thought was as clear as if she had said it aloud.

  But Elise had no inkling of what had passed between her and Connor earlier. She knew it wasn’t the Scot’s fault she’d misinterpreted his attention. But it didn’t make her feel any better. He was the first stranger she had willingly engaged in inconsequential banter with since her husband had died. And he had pulled back.

  “I’ve already dined.” Could she sound haughtier if she tried? “I was merely going to…take some air.”

  Their eyes locked. They might have been the only two people in the hall. But even though she was aware of her cousin, even though she knew that two dozen or more people passed through the hall, she couldn’t drag her gaze away. The rest of the world faded, muted their incessant noise, leaving her and Connor in a strange, untouched sphere.

  “Perhaps,” Elise said, shattering the ethereal moment into splinters of stark reality, “we should all take some air. It would greatly relieve my headache and I’m sure Connor won’t mind offering us his protection against the night.”

  Aila shot her cousin a glare that Elise ignored as she turned toward Connor. Who was still staring at Aila. Why did he continue to stare at her?

  If she didn’t know better, she’d imagine he lusted after her. As Elise imagined.

  “It would be my honor.” Finally he looked at Elise and rejection scuttled through Aila’s bones.

  For God’s sake. Disgusted by her reaction to every slightest thing Connor MacKenzie said or did, she thrust the torch toward her bodyguard who took it without a word. If she refused to join them outside, Connor might read more into it than a simple rejection of his company. He might imagine he had wounded her earlier that day. Might assume she wished to avoid him at all costs.

  The last thing she wanted to do was spend any more time with him than absolutely necessary. And it was, of course, absolutely necessary that she accompany him outside with Elise.

  Since she could not quite justify her logic, she ignored it.

  Elise took his arm. With a stab of alarm—Certainly not anticipation—Aila watched him extend his other arm to her.

  Her heart thundered, sending tremors of excitement skittering through her blood. How tragic that she found the notion of holding his arm so intoxicating.

  For a moment, Connor thought Aila was going to refuse, but then she gave a barely discernible sigh before she rested her hand on his forearm.

  Awareness sizzled through his skin where her hand rested against his naked arm. Unbidden, images of them both entirely naked, entirely alone, flashed through his overheated brain. A sideways glance proved Aila looked as coolly remote as ever.

  So cool, so remote. Had he imagined her interest earlier this day? Surely a woman couldn’t so completely hide her true feelings?

  As they approached the doors and Elise chattered inanely, he risked shooting Aila another glance. Did she never remove her cloak? If he hadn’t glimpsed her slender figure by the stream, he’d be inclined to believe her quite shapeless.

  His cock stirred, reminding him that Aila was anything but shapeless.

  The chill of the night was a welcome relief, except it did nothing to relieve the escalating fire in his groin. He tried to focus on Elise, maintain a semblance of sane conversation, but all he could think of was the silent Aila.

  Torches blazed outside. It was almost as bright as inside the feasting hall. Pictish warriors stood guard and instead of strolling to a more secluded location, Elise drew them to a halt at the perimeter of the fiery glow.

  “It’s quite an occasion, isn’t it, Aila?” Elise said from his right. “Having so many fierce Scots as our guests?”

  Aila’s fingers stirred against his arm. He thought she was going to severe their tenuous contact and the insane notion stabbed through his pounding brain to slide his fingers through hers. Trapping her so she had no choice but to remain by his side.

  But she didn’t remove her hand. She merely caressed his skin, causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. And damn it, that wasn’t all that was standing at attention. If any more blood descended to his groin, he’d likely pass out.

  “Are you a fierce Scot, Connor?’ Aila sounded only marginally interested in his response. And she remained gazing out into the dark night, apparently fascinated by the view of shadows.

  “If the occasion warrants it.” He had to stop staring at her. But in the flickering glow from the countless torches, her hair looked more magical. Her profile more delicate.

  And the reason for her forbidden status receded even farther into the depths of his conscience.

  “If your king commands it.” She didn’t sound censorious. Merely as though she stated a fact.

  And, of course, it was a fact. For any warrior, no matter their nationality.

  “My king,” he said, “desires nothing but peace between our people.” He couldn’t tell her the true reason he was in Ce, but his comment was the truth nevertheless. Strong political marriages would eliminate, for the most part, the constant need for war.

  Finally she turned to him. The flames obscured the true color of her eyes but they were no less mysterious for that.

  “Peace.” There was a wistful note in her voice. “I desire that too. More than anything.”

  No longer were only the tips of her fingers grazing his flesh. Her entire arm, from wrist to elbow, melded against his, her skin smooth and soft and warm.

  How easy it would be to pull her into his embrace. To feel her lips beneath his. To plunge his fingers into her glorious, silken hair. Good sense incinerated and primal desire that had nothing to do with peace between kingdoms blazed through him.

  She suddenly stiffened and drew back. And only then did he realize his free hand had reached for her. That he had been a hairsbreadth from stroking his fingers along her face, indulging his fantasy of drawing her into his arms.

  Not until her gaze slid from his did it even register that Elise was no longer with them.

  Aila pulled her cloak more securely about her. And despite the inferno scorching his reason, an involuntary shiver crawled over his arm at her withdrawal.

  “I’ll keep you no longer.” Her tone was formal, her stance unmistakably aloof. “Goodnight, Connor.” Without waiting for his response—but God, what response could he give when what he wanted was the last thing he could take?—she turned and walked regally back to the doors, her dog a faithful shadow.

  Aila kept her temper in check until she entered the palace and caught sight of Elise hovering by the doors to the feasting hall. Her cousin, after ensuring Connor wasn’t following, hastened to her side.

  “Why are you back so soon?” Elise whispered, sounding put out. Aila swung on her heel and marched toward the concealed stairway, irrationally infuriated by Elise’s question. Elise followed her. “Aila, isn’t it plain to you? Connor desires you. He can’t take his eyes from you.”

  Aila stamped up the stairs, for once unthinking of Drun’s inability to navigate steps without great discomfort. But Elise did not take the hint and continued to follow her. Only when they reached the door to Aila’s chambers and the guard resumed his place along the corridor did she turn, grip Elise’s wrist and pull her into the room.

  Floradh glanced up at their entry and after a calculating glance at Aila she retired to the antechamber, leaving them alone in the bedchamber.

  “Well?” Elise demanded.

  Aila rounded on her. “What possessed you to leave us out there alone?” But the real question was why hadn’t she noticed Elise leaving? Was she truly so besotted by the cursed Scot that he blinded her to what happened before her very eyes?

  Elise gripped Aila’s hands and appeared not to notice when she tried to pull back.

  “He was the Scot you were seen walking with earlier today, wasn’t he?” Elise appeared thrilled by her deduction and Aila glowered. Obviously that nonevent was now common knowledge. “Why didn’t
you tell me, Aila? I thought Connor had seen you from afar and wanted to make your closer acquaintance.”

  Finally Aila succeeded in wrenching herself free. She flung her cloak onto the oak chest, began to make her way to the fire to warm her hands and then realized there was no need. Her fingers were far from chilled. In fact she was so irate her skin burned.

  “Connor most certainly does not wish to make my closer acquaintance.” Just because he kept looking at her, just because he had ignored Elise in favor of addressing her—didn’t mean anything.

  Elise wrapped her arms around her waist and danced across the floor. “I might not have existed for all the notice he took of me.” Elise spun to a halt in front of Aila, amusement bubbling in her voice, glittering in her eyes. “And you can deny it all you wish, but I know you find his appearance pleasing.”

  Ravishing was how she found Connor, but she could scarcely admit that to herself, never mind her dearest friend. “Elise, it doesn’t matter what I may or may not feel toward him. Now will you kindly—”

  “Oh, Aila.” The gaiety vanished from Elise’s voice as she once again gripped Aila’s hands.

  With a smothered sigh she let her. There was no help for it. She would have to confide, otherwise Elise would keep on and on, convinced she was right about the direction of Connor’s regard. “I would never suggest you could love another. I know how your heart is forever entwined with Onuist.” Elise lowered her head as a mark of respect for Aila’s young husband, a man she had met only a handful of times while still a child. A man she knew only through songs of the bards and his last magnificent act of heroism that had cost him his life.

  Corrosive guilt twisted deep inside Aila. She knew she could never love again. But why did everyone believe that was her fate?

  Heat flared through her although she was far from the fire. Why was she thinking of love? It was lust she felt for Connor. She could admit to that, if nothing else. Yet even that went against the teachings of the church.

  The new church.

  The church she had embraced after rejecting Bride.

  “But, Aila.” Elise tugged on her hands to regain her attention. “A little flirtation—what is wrong with that? Connor is beautiful and strong. He would make a wonderful distraction, don’t you think?”

  He was already a distraction. One she feared would linger long after the Scots had returned to Dal Riada.

  “Yes.” It was an admission of more than Elise imagined. More than Aila was willing to examine. An admission that, after so many years of welcomed celibacy, primal desire once again stirred deep in her soul. And not for a safe, dream-lover.

  Elise smiled in clear triumph. “Then return with me to the feasting hall. Take my place next to Connor. And if—”

  “Elise. I offered my friendship earlier this day. I mistook his kindness for something more.” Even now, hours later, that admission still possessed the power to make her cringe. “He may not loathe my company but he most certainly doesn’t want what you’re suggesting.” But why had he followed her if he hadn’t been interested?

  “But that can’t be.” Elise frowned, clearly confused. “I know he deeply regards you, Aila. You must be mistaken.”

  “You also know dark devastation is coming.” Her voice was scathing, despite the stubborn shard in her soul that refused to entirely disbelieve. “What of that, Elise? How do you reconcile Connor’s alleged regard for me with that?”

  Regret seared her at the stricken look on Elise’s face. She had no right to mock Elise’s beliefs. Not when for almost two-thirds of her own life she had believed in them also. When she had imagined her destiny lay in becoming a priestess dedicated to the ancient ways.

  “I don’t know.” Elise released her hands and twisted her fingers together, a clear sign of her agitation, and shame clawed through Aila’s heart. “The two are connected and yet not. It was so fleeting, Aila. I’ll give sacrifice and beg for the goddess’s advice.”

  “I don’t want your heathen goddess’s advice.” The words were out before she could prevent them, poisonous and jagged, suspended between them.

  “Do you no longer believe at all, Aila?” Elise sounded wistful.

  Aila clenched her fists, fought against the rising turmoil that twisted through her gut, constricted her breathing. “No.”

  A gust of wind, from seemingly nowhere, whipped the heat from her body. She snatched up her cloak and slung it around her shoulders.

  Her impenetrable defense against the outside world.

  Chapter Six

  The dark night clung around Connor like a fawning mistress as he lay, naked and alone, on his bed. For seeming hours, he’d tossed beneath the restricting furs, unable to gain comfort. Unable to get Aila from his mind.

  No matter that he’d decided she was forbidden. His blood burned for her. If he hadn’t slighted her so grievously, would she now be in his bed? In his arms?

  Frustration hammered through his mind, an erratic counterpoint to the thunder of his heart. God, he needed a fuck. Needed to lose some of this unbearable tension before madness tore him apart.

  Savagely he gripped the root of his rigid cock. Imagined Aila, naked and willing, straddling his thighs. Imagined it was Aila’s small, delicate hand that wrapped around him.

  Breath hissed between his clenched teeth and he closed his eyes. Aila’s face filled his vision, her beautiful eyes tormenting him with a wordless promise of raw pleasure. Roughly he pumped his shaft, could almost feel Aila’s unbound hair brush his thighs as she gazed at her handiwork. The thought of her looking at him increased his need and his balls hardened with exquisite agony. He pumped harder and his other hand clenched the sheets, muscles straining as blood pounded through his body. The night air drifted across the head of his damp cock and he imagined it was Aila’s ragged breath as she lowered herself toward him.

  Closed her lips around him. Sucked him deep into her wet mouth, her teeth scraping against his flesh, her tongue tasting his swollen shaft, as she gripped his hips and worshipped his body.

  His thrusts became frenzied, his control slipped. He shoved his other hand between his thighs and cupped his heavy balls, gripping without mercy and delicious agony consumed his reason. Brutally he pinched the head of his cock. A choked groan scorched his throat as his back arched and muscles strained.

  Aila was forbidden and the knowledge blazed through his blood like a forest fire, relentless and unheeding. In his mind’s eye she looked at him with those innocent green eyes, his cock filling her mouth, her hands grasping him and the tattered remnants of his control shattered.

  His chest heaved, heart pounded and with an agonized roar, he came with abandoned ferocity.

  * * * * *

  Early the following morning, Connor was halfway to the copse where he’d encountered Aila before he realized the direction he was heading. With a curse he halted. Why couldn’t he get her green eyes and oddly sorrowful expression out of his head?

  “Connor,” Ewan called and Connor exhaled a resigned breath as he waited for his friend to reach his side. The gleam in Ewan’s eyes left no doubt as to what topic of conversation was on his mind. “I didn’t expect to see you up and about so early.”

  “Nor you.” Connor turned so they were no longer facing the direction of the copse. If Aila was, indeed, by the stream he didn’t want to come upon her with Ewan although he wasn’t entirely sure why.

  “I needed a respite.” Ewan grinned and slapped Connor on the back. “Why did no one ever tell us how insatiable Pictish noblewomen are?”

  Was Aila insatiable? Why did he keep thinking of her in that way? He managed a disagreeable grunt in response and scowled at the panorama of mountains and valleys. Despite last night’s exertions, a cloud of dissatisfaction lingered. He feared it would linger no matter how often he tried to slake his forbidden desire for Aila.

  “And how was the golden-haired beauty you snared?” Ewan rolled his shoulders and massaged the back of his neck. “She looked delectable.”


  When had Ewan seen him with Aila? He clawed through the rising irritation clouding his reason but still couldn’t fathom it. Aila had never entered the feasting hall last night.

  “She is doubtless delectable.” He sounded as frustrated as he felt. Shit. “But since she is also a widow, you would also know she doesn’t interest me in that way.” But even saying the words aloud didn’t make any difference. They were hollow, meaningless, mocking his previously held convictions.

  “Widowed?” Finally Ewan stopped leering and frowned. “Is that what she told you? Then I fear she’s leading you astray, Connor.” The frown vanished and Ewan grinned. “God, you didn’t turn her down because of that, did you? No wonder you’re in such a foul temper.”

  Not a widow? Something dark and malignant coiled deep in his gut. Why had she lied to him?

  “Lady Aila has no interest in such intrigues.” Not anymore she didn’t. And he was starting to wonder if she ever had. Had he mistaken the look in her eyes yesterday? Had she been offering nothing more than polite conversation and it was his own overheated lust seeing encouragement where there was none?

  “Lady Aila?” Ewan slung him another frown. “I’ve not met Lady Aila. I was referring to the vision of loveliness who appeared to hang on your every word at the feast last night. I believe her name is Lady Elise.”

  The tight knot in the pit of his stomach eased. Aila hadn’t lied to him. Not that it mattered. She was still forbidden to him for a brief affair. Even if she was willing—and he was no longer convinced she ever had been.

  “Lady Elise is certainly most desirable.” Unfortunately by the time he’d cooled his blood sufficiently to return to the hall, Elise was nowhere in sight. Neither, naturally, was Aila.

  “Yet you didn’t fuck her.” Ewan sounded resigned. “Connor, do you intend to wed Maeve?”

  “Maeve?” Connor turned to stare at Ewan in disbelief. “No. Why would you think such a thing?”

  Ewan shrugged, and glared at the distant mountains as if he wished he’d not brought the subject up. “You like stability in your bedchamber.” Ewan tossed him a dark glance. “You always have. And so I wondered if, now Maeve is free of that bastard, whether you intended to make her your wife.”