The Renegade (The Renegade, Rebel and Rogue)

by Christine Dorsey

  His hands left her, and he jerked about, agitation quickening his step. With the wild beauty of the storm behind him he turned to face her. “That’s where ye be wrong Zoe. I’ve not given up on my quest of yer brother and ye’ve but t’ try runnin’ from me one more time to see the truth of my words.”

  Zoe simply stared at him, her eyes defiant.

  “Ye think I won’t get word t’ him that I have ye?”

  “It will do you no good.”

  “I disagree, Zoe. He’d come for ye. We both know that.”

  “And you’d kill him.”

  “I’d kill him,” Keegan agreed, more to frighten her than because he thought he would. There was a bit of truth in what she said about knowing that it was the evils of war responsible for his father’s death. But he couldn’t let go of his anger. Not yet.

  “You’re a beast.” Zoe crossed her arms.

  “Aye, and that’s the truth of it ye speak. But I’ve told ye before, desperate times make for desperate men.” He paused, then stalked purposefully closer to Zoe. “And desperate woman, I’m thinkin’.”

  “What are you jabbering about?” He was directly in front of her again, close enough for Zoe to smell the wildness of him.

  “We both know why ye ran when ye did. Why ye kissed me in the rain.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “T’ my recollection ’twas a mutual act, that near t’ sent the rain about us sizzlin’.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that.”

  “And ye mustn’t be such a hypocrite, Zoe.” The back of his fingers skimmed across her neck. “Do ye think I can’t see the way yer eyes turn t’ silver when I kiss ye.” He stepped closer. “Or when ye think I might.”

  “You mistake my illness for passion.” Her breath was coming very slowly.

  “Are ye tellin’ me ye’re sick again?”

  “Yes.” His mouth was only a whisper from hers. “I ache.”

  Zoe didn’t wait for him to close the distance between them. With abandon her hands reached up, grabbing fistfuls of thick, wet hair and pulling his mouth to hers.

  It was no gentle kiss. His open mouth hungrily devoured hers as Zoe’s fingers tangled deeper into his hair. And he was right. The moisture on her body seemed to sizzle. Then his lips trailed down to her chin to nuzzle the side of her neck. His voice vibrated through her. “ ’Tis not a good thing to wear such sodden clothin’. Ye might catch a chill.” Which seemed impossible as warm as she was, but Zoe had to admit she liked the feel of his fingers loosening the top button of her bodice. Each inch of skin he exposed received the hot pressure of his lips till he yanked the jacket from her arms.

  The ache inside her was growing to explosive proportions. Zoe held her breath and waited for that moment when her poor heart would burst, deciding that if this was the cause of her demise, she’d finally found one that suited her.

  He undressed her as quickly as he could, considering the damp state of her clothing. The petticoat tabs knotted. The corset tangled. And her stockings were coated with muck. But none of that seemed to matter to either of them.

  Zoe tore at his shirt, wanting to feel the firm texture of his skin. By the time he spread out the plaid and pulled her atop him, Zoe was near out of her mind with an aching want.

  Keegan ran his hands down her back, curving them over her bottom, spreading her legs. She jerked as he feathered his fingers down the moist crevice.

  “I... I can’t stand it,” Zoe whispered against the skin of his neck. She lay sprawled on top him, her breasts which seemed to have swollen to the point of pain, flattened against his chest. She’d been unable to tear off his shirt. But it did gape open, so that some of her flesh abraded the cool, wet cotton, some his fevered flesh. She preferred the flesh.

  But though she was naked as the day she was born, he still wore his damp breeches. He seemed at odds as to what to do. His hands molded her buttocks and back, then fumbled beneath her to jerk down his pants. Both actions had the effect of spinning Zoe further off her center. She’d never felt so light-headed and achy, so feverish and afire.

  “Please, oh, please,” Zoe begged, though for the life of her she didn’t know for what. To say she wished relief from her sweet agony was true, but she didn’t want him to stop. Not when his hands had the ability to drive her to such distraction.

  And then he shifted and grunted, lifting her up and sliding her back down on his naked flesh. He grabbed her buttocks, spreading her, positioning her. The hard, hot maleness between her legs seemed to taunt her, dare her to find relief. Zoe wriggled down, feeling plump and ripe and wet, ready for whatever he might do to bring an end to her sweet torture.

  But he spanned her waist with his hands, stopping her movements. His voice was thick, his breathing hard, and fast. “ ’Twill hurt some, Zoe. I’m sorry, but it will.”

  Hurt? How could anything ache more than the pressure churning inside her? With an instinct as old as time, Zoe arched her body, sliding down till the tip of his hardness swelled into her body.

  “Oh.” Relief seemed at hand. Relief in the form of his thick, throbbing, manhood. With a sudden motion, Zoe impaled herself. If there was pain she didn’t feel it. Her whole body quivered. Her head filled with a roaring sound, that blocked out even the storm.

  She was dying, she knew that. For no one could feel such pure ecstasy and live to tell of it. Zoe wasn’t sure what happened next. It was impossible to concentrate. His hands touched her everywhere, finding secret places that turned her legs to jelly and sent her heart pounding.

  And then his mouth was on her breast, sucking and nibbling and Zoe couldn’t catch her breath. The pressure where their bodies joined surged, built to such a pitch that when the explosion came, Zoe felt as if she’d tumbled off the side of the mountain, hurling through space.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Mmmm. Am I still alive?”

  Beneath her cheek she heard a deep chuckle and opened her eyes. Dark, curly hair tickled her nose. She felt replete and satisfied and the ache was gone. Slowly, for she couldn’t move any other way, Zoe lifted her head. Across a wide expanse of chest she saw the outline of Keegan’s strong chin. He tilted his head, moving as slowly as she, and stared down at her, his eyes still smoky green.

  “What was that?”

  “Well now, ’tis called a variety of things.” Keegan shifted them both till she was nestled half lying on him, half on her side. “But I prefer t’ think of it as a little bit of heaven.”

  “Mmmm,” Zoe repeated, for saying much else seemed too difficult to accomplish.

  When she woke again it was dark inside the cave and the ache had returned. Zoe moaned, nuzzling with her chin the fingers toying with the curve of her ear. Keegan’s other hand rested possessively between her legs.

  “More heaven,” she mumbled just before his lips covered hers.

  ~ ~ ~

  When morning came, casting an eerie shaft of light into the cave, Zoe yawned and stretched like a cat. Her body was stiff and sticky and still sporting some of the slime from the bog. And she’d never felt better in her life.

  “Good morn t’ ye.”

  A smile curved her lips at the sound of his deep voice. Zoe sighed, pushing up on her elbows. The plaid he’d folded over them last night drifted down to her waist. Keegan stood facing her, backlit by the still stormy sky. Hair, tangled and windblown, strong, brawny shoulders and chest, slim hips and long legs. His body, limned by the light, appeared savage, the wild man she’d once thought him to be. Shadows hid his expression, urged her to rise and see him more clearly.

  Wrapping the plaid about her shoulders, Zoe stood and padded toward him through the soft sand. Foaming surf and wind-driven rain misted the cave entrance, and Keegan stepped out of the spray as she approached.

  “You’re wet.” Her hand lifted to skim moisture from his shoulder and lingered. He was naked, gloriously unaffected by the fact. Beautiful in a rugged, untamed way that made Zoe want to let the plaid she gripped beneath her chin fall
to the cave floor. Yet she hesitated.

  “I played the laundress.” Keegan pointed to their clothing draped on an outcrop or rocks in the cave. Petticoats, stockings, breeches, they’d all been washed, and hung to dry.

  “Lazy me.” Zoe yawned again. “I slept through it all.”

  “Aye, and ye deserved yer rest.”

  The tone of his voice, the smoky green of his eyes did magical things to the ache already in full blossom. Zoe thought again about dropping the plaid. But before she could, his hand covered her clutching fingers, and he freed the wool himself.

  The plaid slid down her body, exposing all of her to the heat of his stare. “I’m thinkin’ I know what ye need.”

  Yes. Thanks to last night Zoe knew exactly what she needed. She stepped forward, but though he bent down and kissed her, Keegan kept a wee bit of distance between them.

  “I’ve ne’er played the lady’s maid before I met ye,” he said with a grin. “But I’m beginnin’ t’ see the advantages.”

  Keegan stepped toward the opening, and returned with a rock, scooped out by eons of time and filled with rainwater. “ ’Tis a bit chilly, and we’ve no soap, but this should wash the worst of the dirt away.” And with Zoe standing before him, Keegan tore off a bit of petticoat, dipped it in the water and began to slowly bathe her.

  He began with her face, finger-combing back strands of curly hair, lightened by the sun, then wiping the cloth over her cheeks and forehead. His thumb skimmed over her mouth, pausing when she opened her lips and dampened it with her tongue. He ran the fabric over her jaw, her neck, following each stroke with a press of his lips.

  Zoe’s head fell back, exposing more of her flesh and he feasted, seeming to forget his original goal. “Ye have such incredible skin,” he said against her collarbone. “Smooth and smellin’ of roses.”

  “Roses?” Zoe murmured.

  “Aye roses.” He nibbled then soothed with his tongue. “Sweet smellin’ and pink. Ye’re like a bud just comin’ into full bloom.”

  Keegan cupped her breasts, testing their weight, enjoying the change in her since they’d met. She was still slight of build, with delicate bones, but now there was some flesh on those bones. With a self-deprecating smile he rinsed the scrap of cloth in the clear cold water.

  Her nipples were already pebbly hard, but the touch of the wet fabric made her shiver toward him. Keegan couldn’t resist just one tempting taste. But his willpower, never one of his strengths, was fast disappearing. With a groan, he pulled away, leaving the tips of both breasts wet from his mouth.

  With gentle strokes he washed her back, then the curve of her waist. Here and there were streaks of mud from the bog, and he rinsed them away, aware of what could have happened to her if he hadn’t found her. The Highlands were a part of him, and he found his love of them growing stronger with each passing day. But he knew them to be a ruthless foe for someone like Zoe. Someone who didn’t know how dangerous it could be.

  “What is it?” He’d stopped his glorious torture and stood a hand on each of her hips, his eyes as cloudy as the turbulent sky behind him.

  Keegan shook his head. “I was just thinking of what the Highlands could do to a delicate rose.” But before she could respond to his musings, Keegan dropped to his knees before her. She gasped when he sloshed the cloth through water and pressed it to the delta of hair between her legs.

  “I’m sorry the water is cold,” he said, but Zoe barely heard him above the pounding in her ears. Besides, she didn’t notice the temperature. He’d found the core of her aching and with every subtle move of his hand beneath the cloth made it spiral higher.

  Her thighs spread with a gentle nudge and he washed them, spending perhaps more time than necessary where they met her body. Then he reached through and behind, spreading the cloth. And all the while his thick wrist pressed against that part of her that cried out and wept for him.

  Dizzy but not caring, Zoe looked down at him. All she could see was the bent top of his head, where his wild hair curled and gleamed with threads of burnished copper in the hauntingly scarce light, and the broad span of his shoulders. Her hands settled there, kneading the strong muscles, giving herself stability.

  When he finished, Keegan leaned forward, blowing the soft curls dry. Sending Zoe’s world off kilter. She tried to keep some control, but when his mouth touched her she arched forward and groaned, a sound that seemed not to come from her.

  He sent the ache soaring to new heights, but by this time Zoe knew that it was the most wondrous kind of ache and that relief was pure ecstasy. Her fingers knotted and flexed, riding the crest of his shoulders as he plundered and thrust. Waves like those crests spawned by the storm grew stronger, more intense.

  Then came the shattering release, that weakened her knees and stole her breath. When Zoe opened her eyes she was flat on her back, Keegan kneeling between her bent knees.

  He thrust into her savagely, pushing to the hilt, loving the sensual way she accepted all of him. Loving the soft, sexy sounds she made when he thrust. Loving the way her hands scored his buttocks, urging him back when he pulled away.

  Loving her.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was much later when he finished playing the lady’s maid, washing the splendid curve of her calf and discovering how ticklish her feet were. They sat, wrapped in the plaid, leaning against the rock wall, watching the shattering demise of the storm.

  “The sun seems all the brighter for the effort it takes to fight the clouds,” Zoe said as she nestled her head beneath his chin.

  “Aye, there’s nothing t’ match a good day in the Highlands.”

  “Do you call this a good day?” Zoe slanted him a look through her lashes.

  “I call this a very bonny day,” he countered, stealing a kiss before resuming his relaxed position. “Though I wouldn’t balk at a bit to eat.”

  “Nor I.” Zoe sighed. “Some clotted cream and strawberries would be nice.”

  “Clotted cream? Strawberries?” Keegan shifted again. “What of yer weak stomach? What of the thinned broth and tea?”

  He watched Zoe’s face turn a lovely shade of rose. “I think I do better eating less thinned broth and more clotted cream.”

  “And so ye shall.” Keegan lifted her aside and pushed to his feet. With rapid motions he pleated one of the plaids about his waist and tucked it around his naked shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Goin’ to find yer Ladyship a bite t’ eat.”

  “But I didn’t mean—”

  “Ach, but I do.” He checked the powder in his pistol, scowling when he found it wet, and chose his broadsword instead. Then he touched the tip of her nose. “We must both be fed if we’re t’ keep up our energy.” His grin was wicked. “And I’m all in favor of that.”

  “But where—”

  “Don’t ye worry now.” Keegan headed for the entrance, turning before he reached it. “And don’t ye be goin’ anywhere. I’ll be back directly.”

  He disappeared through the opening just as a shaft of sunlight penetrated the gloom. By the time Zoe stood, and made her way to the door, she could find no sign of him. But then that was not surprising considering the twists and turns they’d taken to find the cave.

  With a sigh she glanced toward her damp clothes, unable to help the thought of escape that flitted across her mind. But it was soon replaced by memories of his lips on hers, of their bodies joined, and the way he could shatter the ache of longing.

  But now she had a new problem to add to all the others. There was a new ache. And though it settled in the region of her heart, Zoe knew it was not caused by any weakness, or infirmity on her par. It was love for him, pure and simple.

  Yet not simple at all.

  Fourteen

  Four more days passed before Zoe set eyes upon Castle MacLeod. The weather thankfully had cleared, turning the sky a perfect robin’s egg blue and the clouds looked like drifts of fine snow. Mist still clung to the hollows, and crowned the mountains
. But the air was clean and crisp and the sun a glorious golden orb.

  They’d left the cave, their clothes dry and bellies full thanks to the moor fowl Keegan managed to snare. Nothing was mentioned as they walked north, about the night they’d spent cocooned in each other’s arms, protected from the storm. Nor did the Scot make further reference to her attempted escape, or his threat to contact her brother.

  But Zoe could tell the Scot’s mind wasn’t on revenge, as they made their way deeper into the Highlands. It was as if the closer they drew to their destination, the stronger the pull. Zoe couldn’t understand it, but strange as it seemed, she felt the same, as if Castle MacLeod were a lodestone and she iron filings.

  Why would a Highland castle be calling her?

  Zoe had plenty of time to contemplate the question as she rode the stout Highland horse. The animals, hers along with the one Keegan rode, were lent them on the second night out, when they stopped, seeking shelter.

  “ ’Tis a friend of my father’s lives here,” Keegan had said as they approached the manse set back from the road. Unlike many of the houses they’d passed, Ramsey House seemed prosperous, fields golden, ready for harvest, and grounds in good repair.

  Keegan had commented on it, pleased the English had spared John Ramsey. It wasn’t until they were ushered into the dark-paneled library that doubt shadowed his expression.

  Though recognition was immediate, Sir John was not pleased to see Keegan or his English guest.

  “I’d a thought ye’d know better than t’ come here, MacLeod.”

  “It wasn’t as if I had much choice. I’d have thought to receive more of a welcome. ’Tis always been the case for ye at Castle MacLeod.”

  “Aye, and times have changed.”

  “Does that mean friendships are gone then?”

  The older man, narrow of face and stooped of shoulder, darted his eyes from Keegan to Zoe and back. “ ’Tis trust that died on Culloden Moor.”

  “Ye’ve reason not to trust me?” Keegan’s voice was incredulous.