Taken by her Highland Enemy: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Deceitful Lassies Book 2)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “I see ye have angered that fiery lass, my friend. What could ye have done, I wonder?” At Lukas’ musing, the other men burst into laughter. Soon after, Sean left for bed as well, and it was just Eamon and his own men. It almost felt like they were caught in the past. But once his last pint was finished, he stood to leave as well.

  “I am off, men. I shall see ye come morn.”

  They ordered another round of drinks and waved him off merrily. “There is enough on the morrow that brings us unhappiness, lad. We shall drink ourselves into merriment this evening.”

  Eamon smiled. Usually, he would agree with them, but tonight he was too tired and too overwhelmed to fully enjoy the evening. He stumbled up the stairs to find his own room. It was lucky enough the inn had space for him to be alone. He opened the door and saw a fire in the hearth. He sighed with delight and moved toward it to sit at the chair that stood before it.

  But when he went to sit down, he jumped back in surprise to find Isabelle sitting there already, her arms crossed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After Isabelle and Arya left for their room, Isabelle finally had a chance to speak to Arya. She was walking up and down in the short quarters, throwing her arms up now and again. “I thought he was different, Arya. I truly did! But he practically shushed me in front of his brother, even though we had shared that moment finding the castle. We were so close to danger, and yet we escaped!” Her eyes were glassy as she looked off into the distance, lost in that memory for a moment.

  But soon enough, her stern expression returned. “He pushed aside my idea in front of his brother. You saw him! And it was a fine idea. What about Gareth and Donovan? We leave them to die!”

  Arya remained silent. Isabelle rushed to her side and sat next to her on the bed. “I am sorry, my friend. Do forgive me. I know that you had some hopes for Donovan.”

  Arya nodded. “I know it is foolish, mistress, and I should never have thought anything about it. But he was so kind and gentle in the brief time we spent together. No man has ever treated me thusly. And now you are right. We have left him to die a slaughtered man!”

  Arya groaned and lay back on the bed. Isabelle bit her lip, trying to think of how to comfort her friend. “Arya, there is still hope. I told them that it is so. My father would need someone to guide them to our camp. So in some ways, we were wise to leave, but to go so far! They have given up hope for their retrieval.” Her shoulders sank. “It is true we do not have the men. I just…” her words were lost on her tongue.

  Arya sat up, her energy restored for the moment. “Mistress, why do you not go and speak to Eamon? Tonight.”

  “In his room?” She could feel her heart flutter, and her breath increase.

  “Yes. It is long enough that you have waited for him. Go and confront him. Then you can decide what to do with your feelings, which simply hang in the balance, waiting for him to do what you want him to do.”

  Isabelle nodded, thinking over the idea. It intrigued her, and she wanted to with everything in her, but she feared his reaction. What if there was truly nothing, and everything she had kept buried in her heart and at the back of her mind was not reciprocated? Did he really feel that her ideas were not valid, that women were useless? But there had been something at Urquhart, she knew it.

  The way they both spoke to Aine, the way she’d felt safe and warm in his embrace under her cloak, and the way she had impressed him with her knowledge of the use of a bow. She wanted him with all her heart. She wasn’t sure of what their future would hold, but something in her strengthened. She patted Arya on the arm.

  “Thank you, Arya. I will go. Far be it for you to encourage such a bold action. Wish me luck.” Isabelle winked at her young friend, feeling confident for the moment.

  Arya smiled and slid under her sheets. “At least you can have this chance with your man. Time is a precious thing, Mistress. Do not rush back.”

  Isabelle nodded, feeling her hands tremble as she reached for the door. She would find his room and slip inside, meeting him when he returned. She was certain he would still be downstairs with the men. She opened the door and crept into the hallway, looking one way and then the other. She could see the light and hear the merry tone of the voices down below and hoped that Eamon was still there. How humiliating would it be to wander in on him while he slept?

  She crept down the hallway. She knew which room was his, for the innkeeper had pointed out all the rooms to her as he opened it up for the two of them. She stood in front of his doorway, and then with a deep breath, opened it and closed it harshly behind her. Isabelle breathed out with relief, for the room was empty. She walked to the hearth and sat in front of it, wondering what to do next.

  Then a thought came to her. What if he feels the way that I feel and something happens between us? Her body yearned to be in his embrace again, feeling his soft, yet strong lips on her own, but she did not know what came beyond that. She had only read of the goings-on between men and women, and it had always been spoken of in whispers and in dark hiding places. She knew nothing of what pleasures were beyond that dark veil.

  She began to realize her own innocence, and her palms began to sweat. Oh, what shall he think of me being here in his room like a wanton woman?

  Her chest tightened, and she feared she would be sent back to her room in tears. She was about to stand up when the door opened, and Eamon came over to the hearth only to see Isabelle Cutler sitting in his chair, her arms crossed.

  “Isabelle? What are ye doing here, lass?”

  Isabelle observed his expression for a moment. He was bemused, but he was not angry. Her muscles slowly started to unclench. But then she remembered. She was meant to be mad at him.

  “Eamon Wilson, I am angry with you, and I have come to tell you about it.” She straightened her chin and tried to look as stern as she could. She crossed her arms so that he could not see her trembling hands.

  She stood to face him, and he hesitated for a moment before putting his hands on his hips and grinning. “Is that so, lass? I knew ye were angry. One could tell from a mile away.”

  Isabelle scowled, but that only seemed to increase Eamon’s mirth. “Why do you laugh?” she asked.

  He stepped a little bit closer, and Isabelle’s breath caught in her chest. Her arms fell to her sides. “I laugh because ye entertain me, lass. Come and tell me why I have angered ye.” His dark eyes were watching her closely, and she felt lost in their inky darkness. For a moment, she could not speak.

  “Because,” she began slowly, “you pushed me aside when I spoke in front of your brother. Did my idea have no merit? Am I not to be listened to?”

  Eamon moved a hair’s breadth closer and lifted his hands so that they laid softly on the sides of Isabelle’s arms. “Listen. I am sorry for what I said tae ye. I didnae mean tae be rude. It is just that ye are the victim of a kidnapping. Do ye nae think it strange that a captor would take the advice of a captive?”

  Isabelle was stumped for a moment. He was right. She kept forgetting to act like a proper captive. She kept getting confused because she felt like they’d known each other a long while since she knew of her own deception of acting as the boy.

  Eamon continued. “My brother is grieving. He must do as he pleases, for this whole thing was set up for his benefit. He is the true leader of the group. I only come as his aid.”

  Isabelle nodded. She felt Eamon’s rough hands begin to move up and down on her arms, and the motion made goosebumps lift on her skin. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Eamon smiled again, and Isabelle’s anger was fully dispelled as she melted into his gaze. He moved his hand up to her chin, and pressing on it with his thumb, parted her lips gently. Her heart felt like it was going to burst, it was moving so quickly, knowing that she wanted him to kiss her more than anything else in the world but fearful of the repercussions. Isabelle closed her eyes as she saw his mouth move closer to hers. But then, someone knocked on the door, and the spell was broken. Isabelle pulled back
quickly, and Eamon watched her for a moment before opening the door.

  It was two male servants. They were lugging in a large metal tub, and they placed it in front of the fire. Once they’d laid it down, they both glanced at Isabelle, but then looked away quickly, embarrassed. Isabelle looked out of the window, unsure of what to do.

  One boy said, “We will begin hauling up the water now, sir. It has been heated well and proper.”

  “Good.” Before Eamon had said the word to her in a low, purring voice, but this time, it was stern and emotionless. Such a change. Well, she supposed he could be that way, flitting from one emotion to the next.

  Once the servants left, Isabelle said, “I suppose I should go and let you bathe in peace.” She walked towards the door, but Eamon’s arm shot out and grabbed her by the elbow. She looked down at it, and he pulled it away.

  “Forgive me, lass, I know ye dinnae wish me tae touch ye there, but I am asking ye tae stay.” He swallowed, and Isabelle could see he was in earnest.

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  He was about to pull her towards him again when the servants returned, carrying a large cauldron of water. “Here we are, Sir. One more after this, and ye will be ready.”

  Eamon nodded and put his hands on his hips.

  Isabelle had a strong and sudden urge to laugh. They kept getting interrupted, and she could tell Eamon was getting frustrated. Once the men poured in the water and left to retrieve more, she and Eamon waited with the door open, and Isabelle tried to keep herself from bursting out laughing while she tried to find somewhere to look.

  She liked to think of Eamon as anxious to be alone with her. He had said as much had he not. The reason he wanted to was still a mystery. The servants returned again, pouring the last of the water into the bath. Eamon placed a coin in each of their hands. “Thank ye, sir!” They skipped out of the room, and Eamon and Isabelle were alone again. The silence felt heavy as she waited for something, for anything to happen. Eamon is the one who wanted me to stay, he should say something!

  Then, she remembered Arya’s words of guidance. This was her chance to see how Eamon felt. If there really was a chance between them, she should try to find out what it was. She took a breath and looked up. Eamon was watching her as he stood by the door.

  “Why did you want me to stay, Eamon?”

  Suddenly, Isabelle listened to the words pouring out of him quickly. “I want ye tae stay because, although we run for our lives from yer father, I can think of naething else but ye. I know we are in danger, and that we will probably die for capturing ye, especially with our lack of numbers, but I cannae help it.”

  Isabelle blinked in surprise, her lips parted. She didn’t know what to say.

  He continued, stepping closer. “I know ye are our captive, but I cannae stop my mind from thinking about the way yer violet eyes light up when ye have a plan. The way ye order me around even though ye are supposed tae be my prisoner. The way ye felt in my arms that day in the woods when ye kissed me.” He was standing so close to her that she had to look up to see into his eyes. “Ye did kiss me back, did ye nae?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “I have thought of little else but that kiss for days. I know I didnae expect ye tae be in my room this evening, but I am glad that ye came.” His voice was low and gentle as he uttered the words. Eamon leaned forward, dipping his head slowly towards hers. Isabelle closed her eyes, aching for the kiss, lifting her arms to wrap them around his waist. But nothing happened. She waited but then opened her eyes to see he was watching her.

  “What is it?”

  “I want tae make sure that ye want this too, lass. I know the last time, I merely grabbed ye, but I cannae do that again, even though my body yearns with desire for ye.” Isabelle smiled and stood up on her tiptoes to capture his mouth. They pulled away, smiling until their lips met again, and Isabelle felt herself float away in a dream. Without breaking the kiss, Eamon placed her against the wall, allowing his hands to roam freely down her neck, over her breasts, and down to end on her buttocks. She cried out into his mouth as she let the warm tingle of desire spread its way from her core to her very fingertips. She could feel the heat mounting in the apex of her thighs, and unfamiliar moisture spread there.

  She wanted Eamon more than ever. Never before had she felt such a dangerous desire for a man, and it threatened to tear her apart. She felt his strong arms and the muscles in his back as she made her own adventurous journey with her hands. His kiss was entrancing. His tongue was exploring her mouth, and they engaged in a sensual dance as they found themselves wanting more of each other.

  Eamon pulled away abruptly, leaving Isabelle surprised, and cold without the heat of his strong body pressed up against her. She saw the steam rising from the bath in front of the hearth. He looked at it as well, and then returned his eyes to hers, the glint of a smile on his face. “Bath, my lady?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eamon bowed politely like an English gentleman, and Isabelle laughed. All the tension from before had melted away. The situation was never one she’d expected to be in, nor could hope to be in again. If this was Eamon’s last night on this Earth, because she knew well the brutality of her father, then she would say yes. She realized that she would say yes to anything if it meant that she could be with Eamon, this strong, wonderful man who made a fire and a passion arise within her that she had never known.

  “Would I be thought of as not very ladylike if I said yes?”

  Eamon laughed. “Nae. I was hoping that ye would say yes. But first, I think there is something else we must attend to.” He laid a blanket over the tub. “It is tae trap the heat inside while we wait.”

  “Wait?” she asked him with confusion. He pulled her to him again, wrapping his hands around her thin waist.

  “Aye, wait. I dinnae want tae rush this moment.” He kissed her again, and while locked in an embrace, they moved towards the small bed. Isabelle’s mind was racing. This was what she wanted, but she was so fearful that her inexperience would prove distasteful to him.

  They laid down, and he lay atop of her, his heavy warmth fueling her desire. Her thoughts got the better of her, and she pulled away breathless, “Eamon, I do not know how any of this goes. I do not--”

  Eamon laid a finger on her lips and smiled kindly. “If ye so desire it, lass, then I will show ye everything ye need tae know.” At the heat of his words, Isabelle closed her eyes again and allowed him to kiss her, even more deeply. His mouth moved down her neck, making a warm path towards her chest. “So bonny. Yer skin is so soft, compared to my rough hands,” he whispered as he slowly moved over the bare skin that was showing.

  “I rather like the feel of them,” she said with a smile. Isabelle laid her head back as he began to undo the laces on her bodice. Her heart was thumping with excitement. She was nervous, but it felt right. She was here with Eamon, the man she had spent so long dreaming about. She didn’t care that she had to pretend to play his captive, or that tomorrow could be different. Tonight would be a night she shared with him, and she would treasure it forever.

  He loosened her bodice and pushed it over her shoulders, exposing her white shift, where her pointed nipples peeked through. Eamon boldly took one breast in his hands, kneading it softly, and Isabelle moaned with pleasure as he placed his mouth around the other breast, sucking and tugging gently through the light fabric. Isabelle could feel her core throbbing, and a warmth pooled at her center. To be touched so intimately felt deliciously wicked and strangely gratifying at the same time. Too soon, Eamon stood up, removing his own shirt. Without saying anything, she stood as well, pulling down her skirt and lifting the white shift over her head. When she was completely naked in front of him, her long, dark hair hanging loosely down her back, she heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to find Eamon staring at her, standing in only his breeches, a bulging hardness at his laces.

  “The fairies have given ye yer beauty, lass. It is not of this world. Ye set a fire withi
n me that cannae be quenched.”

  With his Highland brogue, Isabelle thought his words were the most sensual thing a man had ever said to her, and she felt odd as if they were like words of love uttered by a husband. Oh if only they were. She laid back on the bed and watched with interest as Eamon removed his breeches. She covered her mouth when she saw his hard member standing up straight, and with a grin, Eamon slid slowly over her body. His skin was rough, but the heat of him was a welcome feeling on a cold night, and she smoothed her hands around him.

  Isabelle was about to ask a question when Eamon cut her off with a kiss before trailing his lips down to capture one of her pink nipples again in his mouth. Isabelle closed her eyes and laid her head on the pillow, arching her back to meet him. Warmth moved wonderfully slowly all over her, and she felt a pulsing deep within her that only increased with each lick of his tongue. His other hand kneaded her breast again and then slid its way over the dip in her waist and down between her thighs.