“We must not do this,” he said. He rolled off her and onto his back. She rolled away. When had her skirts slid up over her hip? Had his body been so close to her feminine perfection? The aroma of her arousal wafted up and made him weep. Her heady perfume tangled with the scent of pine and wildflowers, yet his attention latched on a mark above her left hip; a black symbol scribed into her white skin.
“Ye be marked…on yer arse!”
She sighed as if rising from a heady dream before answering. “My tattoo? I happen to adore black cats.”
I wish this woman would adore me for the rest of my life.
Whether marked from birth or by someone’s hand, he could not in good conscience ruin this woman or expose her to ridicule. Her earlier need to gather flowers to make into healing potions also worried him. She acted similar to his sister, Skye. Could this woman also be one who dabbled in witchery? Even so, for him to threaten her honor on the grassy bank of some nameless stream would bring her ruination.
After his first error-filled assumption, he believed her a woman of quality, who muddled his brain and hardened his cock until beyond painful. The lass did not deserve such treatment.
There be many reasons why I should not kiss this fair woman of the mist.
She sighed, again, when he rolled her into his chest. Her delicate fingers grasped one arm and forced him to circle her waist. Her eyes had flickered closed the moment he swept his tongue inside her creamy softness. Her breast still heaved from his amorous ministrations.
On their sides, her eyelids fluttered open once again, revealing pale green orbs filled with unquenched desire. He stroked her silken cheek, cautious not to scratch her tender skin with his calloused fingers. Lady Fia’s pale skin and blue eyes suddenly came to mind. He lay with one woman while betrothed to another.
What am I doing?
“We need to get back to camp before my men consume all the food. Ye look famished. For food, I mean.” He jumped to his feet and offered a hand.
“Must we?”
For a brief, breathless moment, Kirk yearned to answer with a lusty no. With regret searing his painful erection, he gathered her small piece of toweling then led the way back to camp. He used the silence to contemplate why he had placed her in his tent when they had arrived at camp. He could have purloined someone else’s, as many would be taking turns on guard duty. Did he want her in his bed?
Of course I do. What sane man would not?
This woman had materialized in a vision not once, but twice. When she had appeared in the flesh near the stag, his eyes beheld a woman who haunted each waking hour since.
Her clothing, unkempt hair, bare feet, and coarse language had roused him from the fairy tale he had created around her visage. Unlike the Lady Fia, Haven struck him as less than perfect. He liked this woman better, even with her flaws and acid tongue.
His body tightened, and his steps faltered. He shook off the image of her luscious tongue. When strangers decided to cause her harm, he had not hesitated, nor had he thought about his own safety. Tomorrow, they would join the relative protection of the main traveling group. After food and rest, he would order her to answer all his questions. He rubbed his right temple when one immediate question arose.
If this woman who tastes sweet as rain and moans beneath my touch sleeps in my tent this night, where shall I bed down?
* * *
Moments after his warm, hard body rolled away, a sigh of regret escaped Haven’s swollen lips. When she finally opened her eyes, she missed the closeness of his intense gaze. His large hands touched and stroked her to new heights of awareness.
And his mouth. His wonderful mouth.
Silky lips had wreaked havoc on tender flesh. Rough fingertips scratched her cheek as much as his stubbly chin. Then he stopped, rose, and pulled her to her feet. Why had he halted in the middle of kissing her senseless? His desire had been hard to disguise, evident even now by his plaid’s distinctive tent.
“He obviously enjoyed it as much as me,” she said under her breath. A smile tugged at her mouth when she thought about his large hands. Memories lingered of how they stroked the sensitive skin just above her breasts after he’d run long fingers up her calf. She tugged at her bodice then finger-combed her leaf-strewn ponytail.
She’d gotten to her feet, then he’d released her hand and fled down the trail without comment. The forest’s silky silence soothed her jitters. Even so, she trembled. When his body had covered hers so completely, joy swelled in her heart. When his thumb caressed her cheek, desire fueled her moans. Ablaze with passion, she didn’t even struggle beneath his brawny shape. Kirkwall could have taken her then and there with ease and without protest.
The sounds of camp soon filled the forest. She exhaled a nervous lungful of air when she recalled how potently male these men were when compared to guys like Cal. A sudden image of naked chests and hungry stares made her cringe. She fought back a whimper at the thought of spending an entire evening in their midst.
Haven rubbed a palm across a queasy stomach. She would keep silent and be invisible. She saw no sense in responding in any manner with a man who’d just kissed her senseless in a private glade.
“Why were ye out here alone?” he asked.
Haven’s bare feet slid to a halt. A gasp of pain escaped her mouth at the sudden sting.
“I apologize. I forgot about yer injury.”
“Please, don’t mention it. My own foolishness caused me to lose my shoes.”
“Fine. Let me ask ye again. Why were ye out here alone? I suggest ye explain before we reach camp. My men will be as curious. I do not wish them to—”
“To what?”
“Make the same mistake I did when I approached ye and—”
“Propositioned me?”
“Aye.”
She laughed. High on his chiseled cheekbones, Kirk’s bristly skin flashed red. And when he clenched his square jaw, then glared down at his feet, something around her heart sprang open. For a perfect stranger? Then she thought about his question. How long had she stood alone in these unfamiliar woods? Where would she find the peace she sought when she’d agreed to help Iona? And, where did this hunk fit in with her plans to find her Mr. Right?
“You simply arrived at the wrong conclusion. This,” she brushed her hands down her bodice, “is a costume.”
“A what?”
“A costume. I am pretending to be a Scottish lady who had just returned from a ceilidh.”
She watched Kirk’s embarrassment morph into rage. Whatever she’d admitted hadn’t been the answer he expected. A meaty fist closed around her arm and dragged her into his chest. His eyes darkened into black orbs suspended in an ice field. He glared and her entire body went on alert. She couldn’t read him. A sudden fear swam through her, stealing her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice broke as she pushed against him and tried to step back.
“I do not care for women who pretend to be what they are not.”
Pushing away tiny tingles of fear, she let anger bubble up at his holier-than-thou attitude. She’d done nothing wrong and he had no reason to act the injured party. When his grip around one wrist tightened, and he pulled her back into an embrace, his rock hard arousal slammed into her belly. Haven slapped his face.
“Is there a problem, my laird?”
Haven and Kirk broke apart as if scalded. Heat bloomed beneath the skin of her cheeks and spread lower. The young man wearing the sling stood a few feet away.
“There is no cause for alarm, Reid. The lady and I had a difference of opinion.” After delivering his simple response to Reid’s concerned frown, he turned toward the direction of camp and left her standing beside the boy.
“I have never seen my Laird touch a woman so,” he whispered.
“How do you mean,” she asked. She rubbed her wrist with the palm still on fire from the slap.
“He never touches women.”
“You jest.” Haven rubbed her skirt in a gesture meant t
o convince him nothing had happened. “He must hug and kiss women all the time. The man is too handsome to have any problem finding a date.” Haven stomped off in the direction of camp.
“Laird Kirkwall has taken his nickname to heart.”
The boy’s odd statement made her slow her steps. He caught up to her and she asked him to explain.
“Kirkwall is named after the village on the isle of Orkney. ‘Twas there he was conceived. His father made sure he always knew of this. Named for a place and not an ancestor is considered less than honorable. His cousin and sister call him Kirk. Even this is an unjust name for him.
“Why?”
“A Kirk is the holiest of places. Priests tend them. Our laird, unfortunately, has become as alone and as pious as such a place. The last few months have grown worse. Ever since his injury.”
“But, why.”
“’Tis not my place to say, my lady. I believe he has not shared his bed… The boy’s cheeks flashed bright red.
Haven bit her lower lip to hide her smile. “Please, go on.”
“He has not shared his bed or visited the village whores in a very long time.”
Haven absorbed the boy’s whispered response then compared the information to the man who recently stuck his tongue down her throat.
“Ye dress nice. Sorry those bad men made ye ruin such finery. Where did ye get such a beautiful garment?”
“A friend gave me this gown so I could do my job.”
“And what, pray tell, is this job?”
“Well, I cook and knit with home-spun wool, and answer questions.”
“Whose questions?”
“Visitors to the Highland games have plenty of questions. They usually want to see how a real-life camp operates. We give them a taste with our tent life. They meander through displays of hand-hewn logs made into rustic furniture, and tour Jake’s forge.”
“Jake? Is he yer man?”
She laughed. Jake? Her man? “No. We’re friends.” After she and Reid talked for a few minutes, their laughter echoed off the trees. When they entered the glen, she saw Kirk spin around. He glowered.
At Reid, or at me?
Sunbeams, sneaking through the canopy of green leaves above, streaked his hair a reddish-gold. He smiled, and her thighs clenched. Walking closer to them, Kirk ignored the young man and spoke only to her.
“What caused such sweet noise to fill these dreary woods?”
Before she could respond, Reid piped up and answered.
“She told me about her special friend, Jake. He’s the village blacksmith and makes pretty spikes for her hair. She’s upset she lost them as they had been a gift.”
The boy’s innocent comment turned the magical light in Kirks’ eyes into thunderous rage. Kirk’s jaw clenched as he stepped back. Did she misread jealousy in a man who doesn’t pursue women? Ever? Even so, she couldn’t stomach the possibility he thought her spoken for. He might not kiss her again.
“Jake is my co-worker. He makes tools, nails, and small swords with his forge. He’s a friend. Besides, I don’t—”
Kirk and Reid both sucked in deep breaths as they waited for the rest of her comment. Would they believe her?
Do I really care?
“I don’t have a man. Not anymore. Cal Murchie and I split up. It’s still a sore subject so you’ll excuse me if I don’t care to speak of him right now.”
Kirk didn’t say a word. Reid shrunk away. Had her words embarrassed the boy? He looked about seventeen. He must date and kiss girls by now. Or, had he read more into his leader’s reaction to her statement? The man’s grin sliced through her body, scorching her with a decadent desire to take him back to the stream, throw him down, and ride him until—”
“Ye have no idea what I would give to be yer man.”
At his whispered words, tremors raced down her spine. She felt her semblance of a smile vanish into a frown as it pulled at her lips. He stood over her in a predatory stance, tall and vibrant. His position kept her from advancing toward the relative safety of the camp. His words certainly were not the words she expected, not after ending their kiss-fest so abruptly. His low, blatant outburst? Surely a mistake. Then, he growled.
“Please let me pass.” She straightened and subjected him to her haughtiest glare.
With a huge sigh, Kirk retreated.
The idea that something had changed between them made her worry. She twirled a lock of loose hair as she passed him and they entered the camp. She didn’t care for any of this. Haven wanted to sleep in her own tent among friends she trusted. Even dancing with Cal sounded better than traipsing through unknown territory with Kirkwall Gunn and his men.
Did the poor man have similar complications in his life? Maybe he’d waited all year to fling off the shackles of his dull life for a few days of fantasy.
Too bad I don’t care to be any man’s fantasy.
She winced at such a bold-faced lie. A pang of sorrow laced her heart, but she couldn’t fall for a stranger who threw himself so deeply into his acting. This man, as well as his cohorts, took the Highland games to an all-new level.
CHAPTER 12
What Kirk considered best for his clan always intruded on his personal life. Why should today be any different? He would ignore the woman, because when their trek concluded, there would be no place in that life for Lady Haven.
His men looked his way, but he could not decipher their intentions. Had Reid told them how he had manhandled the only woman within shouting distance? He silenced their questions with a glare. Let them think he claimed the wench for his own bed. Such a lie would ensure her safety.
Mayhaps.
He headed for the campfire then spoke softly to the man who tended the spit. Kirk accepted two wooden trenchers filled with torn pieces of charred flesh. Another man approached with a wineskin. Since he had filled his hands, the warrior slipped the skin’s strap over Kirk’s head. He turned to his guest who had shadowed his steps without a word.
“Time to eat. We shall sit over there.” Pointing with his chin, he waited for her to move.
“Let me help,” she offered. She slipped the kidney-shaped skin from his neck and placed its braided leather cord over her own head. It draped across her bodice and tugged on the lacy edge, revealing more pale flesh. He clenched his jaw, surprised at the sudden rush of desire. She was too close.
“This smells like vinegar,” she said, sniffing the contents of the skin.
“It is only wine that has been warmed in the sun. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” she whispered.
His chest tightened. She should not put her trust in him. Not when he fought the urge to throw her down and ram himself inside her like a…
“Jesu!” Kirk said, surprised his thoughts had turned to sex.
“What was that you said?”
“Not a thing.” He led her to a log, away from the fire and prying eyes. He watched in silence as she carefully folded her skirt under her to protect her rounded bottom from the rough, dirt encrusted bark.
“I would sell my soul for a warm bath,” she said as he handed her a plate of meat. The aroma must have been acceptable since her stomach growled in a most unladylike manner. She smiled an apology.
“Eat,” he said, as he tried unsuccessfully to wipe away the image of her naked curves. She picked up a piece of meat and they consumed their dinner in silence. The common task of filling their empty stomachs calmed his lust. Her face relaxed and she looked happy, so she must have found the meat palatable. The wine, indeed warm and on the bitter side, did not rouse a complaint more than once.
A droplet spilled down the smooth, white skin below her lips. An urge to lick her chin clean preceded a low growl. Her head snapped up. Green eyes, wide open and filled with curiosity, made him bring his attention back to his own meal. He should not trifle with her; not with the future of his clan perched heavily on his shoulders.
The quiet of early afternoon filled the camp with a calm that gave his hard cock a chance t
o soften to a more comfortable size. Until she sighed.
“Such a big sigh for so small a package. Are ye feeling a wee bit better?”
“I feel wonderful,” she said then took another big bite of meat.
Words balanced on the tip of his tongue and he fought the urge to ask what caused her to feel wonderful. “We shall break camp very early come morning.”
“Oh? What time?”
“When the sun peeks from beyond that mountain.” He set down his trencher, wiped his fingers on his plaid then pointed east.
“Oh.”
“Ye shall sleep in my tent.” Her silence made him glance her way.
She continued to chew her food, but her furrowed brows indicated she did not agree with his edict. Kirk guzzled a long drink from the skin and waited.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I presume you plan to leave me here. Could you first point me in the direction of the games?”
“Ye will come with us to our main encampment. This is a hunting party. My men did a fine job.” He pointed at several deer carcasses hanging in a distant tree. He nodded toward a small rack of crisscrossed twigs where the skinned bodies of small animals lay.
“Are ye enjoying yer pine martin?”
Lady Haven’s beautiful face paled. Eyes, wide-open in horror, made him reach for her. Kirk stayed his movement when a grimace stole her smile. Was she ill? She set her plate on the ground by her feet as delicate coughs filled the air. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she turned and faced him, her back straight as a pike.
“I do not care for it, actually.”
Kirk threw back his head, slapped his knee, and broke out in a loud laugh.
“It’s not funny!” she said, and jumped to her feet. “Some of us are more civilized when it comes to what we eat.”
She strutted toward his tent. His gaze focused on her rounded bottom, not hidden well by her damp dress. With her head held high and straight, she ignored his men. Their glares soon turned to low chuckles. Had his laughter embarrassed her in front of his warriors?
No, Haven would not let a brief bit of fun waylay her coarse mouth and haughty manner. She simply did not care for the fare he had provided and now grew tired.
Highland Games Through Time Page 12
