by Siobhan Muir
He slowly nodded. “I wish to court Isabelle, to persuade her to be my wife.”
MacClanahan snorted with disbelief. “Do your duty to her, you mean.”
“Nay!” Jonarrion growled, the same frustration he’d felt with Isabelle’s dismissal stirring. “Nay, I want her for her, for the extraordinary woman she is. That no one has asked for her hand before this is beyond my comprehension. Isabelle Andersen is a treasure, and not just because she’s half-Fae. She chose this path to survive, despite how the village would treat her. She’s wiser and stronger than all the other unmarried females in this place.” Jonarrion stopped himself from insulting his allies, but his anger made him straighten to his full height. “She’d make any man proud to be her mate. That she’s been overlooked only proves how stupid most of the males are here.”
He knew he towered over the shorter man and his wife, but his real fury had come out without his say-so.
My mate. The villagers torment Isabelle for the sins of her parents, stupid blighters.
Jonarrion forced his fury back inside and wrenched his fist open to keep the points of his claws from cutting into his palm. Breathing deeply to seduce calm, he ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure his canines hadn’t elongated. He focused a little to reassert his human disguise.
“I don’t wish to merely ‘do my duty by her,’ as you so callously put it. I’d want her if she was a widow, a maiden, or a matron. She’s a female to be cherished, not wasted on ignorance.”
MacClanahan didn’t look convinced, but Marie smiled with satisfaction.
“Then you should go find her and tell her so yourself. I do not know where she has gone, but I can tell you she loves the copse of trees just at the top of the hill overlooking the Loch. She has told me it is where she feels closest to her mother.”
“’Tis also the place where the Fae tupped Merrin.” MacClanahan looked dour.
“I know the place.” Relief slid through Jonarrion. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to find Isabelle after all. “I saw her there the night I arrived. Do you believe she’d stay there?”
“I do not know if she’ll stay, but she’d most certainly stop there to say good-bye to her mother ere she travels on.” Marie rose to her feet and handed him the lacy handkerchief. “You must go after her. When you see her, be sure to tell her no thanks are needed for our help. We only wish her happiness. Have you eaten anything this day?”
Jonarrion shook his head. “I must be off before someone finds her and takes what she isn’t willing to give.”
“I agree. You must go after her quickly, but you will be no good to her if you are weakened by hunger.” Marie’s pragmatism filled the room.
“I have the flat bread—”
“Pah! That is not a meal. That is for travel. Come. We’ll feed you and send you with extra provisions for her when you find her.”
Jonarrion tried to protest, but Marie ignored his efforts. Amusement trickled through him as the little Frenchwoman overruled his protests. What would my mum say to a human dictating to her wayward son? He grunted with humor and sat down in Isabelle’s chair.
He tried to appreciate the mutton sandwich and hot tea Marie offered him, but he’d already moved on to what he needed to do. His mind sharpened as he ate, but his concern for Isabelle burned like acid, goading him to wolf down his food. He swallowed his tea so quickly he burnt his tongue, but the continuing delay gave him greater pain.
When he rose to his feet and prepared to leave, Marie handed him a canvas bag full of bread, some dried mutton, and a cinnamon bun wrapped in a cotton cloth. A Celtic pattern embroidered in green hemmed the edges of the cloth. He raised his eyebrows, and Marie smiled sweetly.
“It’s for Isabelle. She loves the cinnamon buns, and I want her to know we think of her with love. Now, you must go find her and convince her you are hers.”
Jonarrion smiled wryly. “I’m hers?”
“Oui.” Marie gave him a wise smile. “Bon chance, Monsieur Swift.” Then she pulled him down to kiss either cheek.
MacClanahan grasped his forearm. “If you do right by her, you won’t get a quarrel from me.”
“When it is safe to return, we will.” Jonarrion gently squeezed MacClanahan’s arm. “Thank you for your provisions and information.”
“Good luck, Master Swift.”
Jonarrion nodded, grabbed his knapsack, and strode out of the warm kitchen into the rain and wind of the early spring evening. The clouds had come in to drench the village, but he slung his plaid over his head to keep the worst of it away and set his feet in the direction of the trees above the Loch.
Chapter Nine
Isabelle huddled in her old cloak and stared morosely out at the dark and stormy evening. The small fire she’d lit to keep herself warm barely threw off enough heat to be considered worthy of the element. Her emotions flowed over her like the blasts of wind howling outside of the rocky doorway in which she sat. Fury, fear, frustration, and despair alternated with the changes in wind direction, and she hugged herself to keep from toppling beneath their onslaught.
Her afternoon had been as dreary and cold as the weather. When she’d left the bakery, she’d staggered through the village with a stooped and uneven gait to keep anyone from discovering her. It was torturous to walk so slowly, but she wanted attention even less than she wanted to remain within the village’s confines.
Isabelle had trudged to the copse of trees above the Loch to say one last good-bye to her mother. When she reached her favorite spot, she fell to her knees on the ground and wept. She mourned the loss of her sisters, the MacClanahans, her home, and even the comfort of Jon Swift’s embrace. The wish to go back and stay with him had flared periodically, but she’d beaten the hope down with a firm reminder.
He is kind and honorable, but he doesn’t really love you, Isabelle. She’d clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, hating the words. He only offered to marry you out o’ that sense o’ honor. The truth hurt more for her understanding of it. Well, I’m honorable, too, and I can’t allow a good man to throw his lot in with a harlot just because he took my virginity.
Isabelle had wept for a while, allowing the wind to steal her wails and fling them across the Loch with its own howls. She almost welcomed the foul weather. It had matched her own inner state so perfectly. Despite her grief, the wind and rain scoured her despair until her tears stopped, and she crouched, drained and numb.
Have done, Isabelle. Sobbing in the mud won’t get you safe, warm, or fed. She’d stared out at the rain and wind lashing the Loch, and allowed her ties to Lochmore Cott to unravel. Oddly free, she’d huffed out a long sigh, struggled to her feet, and headed south along the muddy track leading away from the village.
The weather had worsened as Isabelle traversed the trail, forcing her to concede. She’d searched the southern shores of the Loch, but only stunted trees eking out sustenance in the lea of the hills rising from the Loch provided any shelter. She’d pushed herself further, scanning the craggy rocks for any break in the sheer, slick walls, and finally stumbled across the cave she now sat in. She’d been grateful it faced downwind, and she didn’t mind the musty scents coming from the dark recesses she lacked the courage to explore.
So you’ve gone and left your home. What are you going to do now? Where are you going to go? You’re alone, and your family has disowned you.
Isabelle decided it didn’t matter as she poked her little fire with a stick to make the flames perk up. I’ll find something to do in another little village using my mum’s maiden name. She had skills as a housekeeper and a serving wench. She knew how to run a tavern. Whatever happened, she’d manage something.
Her mother had once told her every choice she made had consequences, but it also had opportunities. Whichever path you choose, Isabelle, there will be more paths to take as you go. Trust your heart. The Goddess guides you from there.
Isabelle wished she had her mother’s rock-solid faith in the Goddess. She glanced around at her cold acc
ommodations for the night and grimaced. Naught to be done tonight, Belle. Soaked to the bone, she let her mind drift with the flicker of her meager light. Everything smelled of wet rock, wool, and mud, but she found she didn’t miss the Careless Wench.
The wind chose that moment to send a fearsome gust damn near obliterating her fire, and Isabelle cursed as she struggled to keep it going. She hadn’t been able to gather much wood, and what she’d found had been as damp as her clothes. Coaxing it to burn had been a fight, and the thought of losing the light had her scrambling.
“Oh, please don’t go out.”
Isabelle frantically tried to keep the flames going when a very large shadow stepped up to her out of the stormy murk. She shrieked in surprised fright and scooted backward until she braced herself against a wall, her eyes widening so she could take in what little the light revealed.
The great hulking shadow looked like some odd beast, bulky and broad, with protrusions creating a misshapen silhouette. Panic gripped Isabelle’s mind, and she damn near swallowed her tongue. But the light flickered in the turbulent air, and she caught sight of eyes and a pointed nose. An animal hadn’t come to inspect her fire, unless the bandits and highwaymen no longer counted among the human population. She grasped her little hatchet and waited in tense silence for the huge man to do something.
“Peace, Isabelle.” A deep, masculine voice full of familiarity shocked her. He crouched down in front of her fire, the light finally touching his face. “It’s Jon Swift.”
“Jon?” She swallowed her heart out of her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He a few more pieces of wood to her fire. “You were fairly difficult to track through this weather.”
“I didn’t want to be tracked,” she retorted as her heartbeat slowed. “Why are you looking for me? I thought we’d finished our business last night.”
“Nay, I wasn’t finished with you.” Jon removed his knapsack from his shoulder. “I told you last night that I wanted to do right by you—”
“Aye, you did, and I told you I didn’t want your charity.” Exasperation rose along with the discomfort of leaning against the wall of the cave. “You were not required to take me to wife, just take my virginity. You have done that. You’re free o’ me. I’ll not hold you for any reason.”
“What if I want to be held?”
Isabelle gave him a flat look and his smile faded. “I was serious last night, Isabelle. It has nothing to do with my acceptance of your virginity. I cannot get children on you, so my interest in you isn’t for the sake of conception. I want you. All of you. Your stubbornness, your temper, your fire and strength. All of you. There is no other for me, nor will there be.”
She shook her head. How she wished it to be the truth.
“Jon, I’m grateful to you, but you barely ken who I am.” She pushed the practical words past her lips, though her heart ached. “I’m not so desperate that I’d take the first man who offered for me.”
His head came up, and he smiled mildly, but anger flashed in his eyes. “Are you saying I’m not good enough to take you to wife?”
She frowned in confusion. Why was he insulted? She tried to do him a favor by letting him go, even though her heart desperately wanted him.
“What? Nay, that’s not what I’m sayin’. I mean I can take care o’ myself. I don’t need a man to survive.” She stopped and shook her head, feeling cold and alone, but correct. He’d given her pleasure, more pleasure than she ever expected. Jon didn’t need to give her more than that, and she could live without him. She could!
He snorted with derision, making her temper flare. “And where were you going to go?”
“Wherever I can to find a place to live. You travel everywhere. Why can’t I?”
“You’re a woman.” He scoffed, and she wanted to throw a rock at him. “I travel by hiring myself out to whoever needs my sword.”
“I’m glad you noticed I’m a woman.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “As for hiring myself out, I believe women did it first, throughout history, as ’tis the oldest profession. Why can’t I do the same?”
Again his head came up, but this time his smile had fled. “You’d whore yourself out to make a living?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Isabelle climbed to her feet, her anger surging. “You whore yourself out, just in a different way. You’re still accepting coin for your services, are you not? The only difference is you serve with your sword, while I’ll service their swords.”
Jon rolled to his feet in one smooth, predatory move, like a great beast preparing to pounce. “You have a foul mouth on you, Isabelle! And I won’t let you sell your beautiful body to a bunch of drunken louts who have no appreciation for the female form, much less you as a woman.”
“You won’t let me?” she shouted at him, her fury finally boiling over. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? Why would you even care? Because you’ve taken my innocence? That doesn’t make you my husband or my master.”
“You won’t have me as your husband!” he roared, and she swore his eyes glowed an electric blue like lightning. “Hellwinds, woman, I want you as my wife for all time, and I can’t seem to get it through to you. And I won’t tolerate any other male touching what’s mine!”
“I am not yours! I won’t belong to anyone. I’m not a possession.”
He snarled like a frustrated predator and leaped at Isabelle over the little fire. He caught her by the arms and slammed his body against hers as he pushed her up against the rough wall of the cave once more.
“You belong to me, Isabelle Andersen!” Then he smashed his lips to hers.
Her body reacted to his kiss before her mind knew what was going on. Fury and frustration shifted into needy desire, and she gave in to his kiss. Lustful fire burned through her veins as his tongue thrust into her mouth and caressed hers. She realized the hard object pressing against her lower body was not a dagger, but the hard ridge of his cock straining against his leather braies. She squirmed against him, but whether to get away or to get closer, she didn’t care.
Isabelle pushed against his hard chest, but Jon didn’t budge. His tongue licked her lips before he nipped them playfully, and she growled at him. He growled back and grabbed her hands, forcing them up over her head. He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall with his weight. A combination of trepidation and excitement flared as she struggled to get away, but he held her fast.
Her nipples hardened against the flat planes of his chest, and she squirmed to relieve the aching tightness. Bloody hell, she swore she’d drown in the surge of the emotions he elicited from her. Lust, pleasure, fear, anger, frustration, desperation, and need washed over her as he clasped both her wrists in one hand. Isabelle jerked on her arms, and arousal flared at the ease with which he held her bound with a single hand.
Jon snarled low in his chest, and her juices soaked her thighs. Her core wept and ached for more of his touches.
His other hand dropped to worm its way between them, and he kneaded one of her breasts gently, making the nipple impossibly harder against his palm. He pulled back from the kiss to devote attention to her jawline and neck below her ear, sending delicious shivers of sensation straight to her pussy. Despite her best efforts to hold back, she moaned and rubbed her mound against the hot, hard arousal within his braies.
“That’s it, my sweet Belle.” He continued to kiss her neck and throat. “Rub your hot, sweet pussy on my cock, sa cherro. Oh, Goddess, your scent calls to me like a siren.”
His words pushed her arousal higher until she forgot her fury with him entirely in the face of his touches and kisses. She struggled again to free her wrists, but not to escape. She wanted to run her hands over his shoulders and thrust her fingers through his thick, glossy hair. Holy God, did she want to touch him!
Her struggles pushed her breasts against his hand, and she ground her core on his cock harder, making him growl with aroused response. Cream flooded between her wet n
ether lips, and her nub swelled with aching need. The scents of scalded rock and sex filled the little cave, and steam wafted off their woolen cloaks from their combined heat. His lips came back to crash into hers, but only for a few moments before he released her wrists and dropped to his knees, thrusting his hands beneath her skirts so he could massage her core.
They both groaned at the same time when his fingers found her wetness, and he rubbed her pearl like stroking a cat. Isabelle’s knees would have given out had she not been pressed against the wall. With each brush of his fingers over her sensitive flesh, tantalizing excitement surged through her, and her eyes rolled shut.
“Oh, sweet Mother, you’re wet for me, lassie.” Jon’s voice made her look down into his glowing blue eyes. “I can smell your arousal, and I want to taste your honey pot.” He ducked his head under her skirts and licked her aching slit.
Isabelle jerked in surprise. Jon’s hands caressed her thighs while his breath brushed the hairs on her pussy. She dissolved in a flood of sensation and lust as her knees finally buckled. He rumbled his approval as he held her up with his hands on her inner thighs, spreading her for his lips and tongue to worship her woman’s core.
Goddess, Jon. More, please. Never stop.
He was playful, lightly licking and kissing the lips of her pussy while his fingers caressed the soft hairs at the crease of her thighs. Pleasure zinged through her, and she gasped in time to his tongue touching her skin. He growled against her nether lips before licking her from the back of her slit to the hood of her nub, and she mewled a whine in response.
“Ah, so you like that, my fiery lassie.” Her skirts muffled Jon’s voice, but Isabelle felt more than heard his aroused satisfaction. “As my woman, I could give you all this and more. Do you want more, Isabelle?”
“Please, Jon. I need you.” She rocked her hips in supplication.
