A Highlander's Temptation

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “Roaring traveler?” Arabella blinked.

  “That’s one of the names Vikings gave the wind.” Darroc lifted a hand to dash droplets of glittering spray from his cheek. “Once you’ve heard its shrieking when all else is still and feel its chill slicing through the birlinn’s hull, you’ll understand why. Yon sail screen”—he glanced at the makeshift partition, flapping crazily even now—“and one plaid won’t be enough to keep you warm.”

  He who is bold succeeds.

  The chant marched across her mind again, persistent and encouraging.

  Her chin came up a bit higher. “My father once told me men didn’t just wrap themselves in their plaids for warmth at sea.” She spoke quickly, before her daring failed her. “He said they slept huddled together.”

  Laughs rose from the men on the rowing benches.

  “Aye, and so we do.” Darroc glanced at her, his hair streaming in the wind. “That’s why I brought the chest of plaids. They’ll give you the same extra warmth.”

  Arabella bit back the urge to purse her lips.

  That wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.

  It would seem that bold didn’t work as well for her as it did for her father and sister.

  “Tell me of Olaf Big Nose,” she said, changing the subject. “From his name, he’s of Viking blood.”

  She hoped only she heard the tremor in her voice.

  The birlinn plunged into a deep trough and rose again before Darroc spoke. “Olaf is a Norseman and he lives by the old ways. But you needn’t fear him. He’s a big man as fierce-looking and shaggy as a Highland stirk, yet I’ve seen him shed tears o’er ancient harp songs and shake with laughter at the antics of a puppy.

  “He is a good friend and trusted ally with no time for outlawry.” Darroc glanced at her, his smile widening into a grin. “Once he hears the fate of the Merry Dancer, you will see the strength of his hand and why—”

  “You sound sure he’ll join you against the Black Vikings.” Arabella had trouble believing it. “In Kintail we say that blood tells.”

  “And so it does.” He didn’t disagree. “But when blood is tainted, honor speaks louder.”

  “A Viking’s honor.” Arabella couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

  Darroc threw back his head and laughed. “Olaf Big Nose is no marauding sea pirate. He loves his wee isle as much as I do my own. And”—he ducked when a shower of spume crashed over the stern platform—“his family’s called the isle theirs since before Rhun set the cornerstone for Castle Bane. Olaf’s great-great-great grandsire was one Einar Ironhand, a merchant who served the sea routes from Norway. When other merchants grew envious of his success and tried to damage his trade by blackening his good name, Einar left his home for Iceland, settling there only to run into the same problems he’d had in Trondheim.

  “Disillusioned and with his fortune already made, he gathered his friends and womenfolk and sailed for the Hebrides. That was in the day these isles were still in Norse hands and called the Sudreys. Einar claimed an isle that pleased him and found the peace and good life he craved.”

  “Olaf is no different,” Conall tossed in, raising his voice above the clangs of his gong. “He will tell you his greatest joy is watching the wind chase clouds across his hills.”

  “Or”—one of the oarsmen twisted around with a grin—“learning that one o’ his women is swelling with a new bairn!”

  Arabella’s face flamed despite the cold. “One of his women?”

  Darroc coughed and beat his chest with a fist. “I told you,” he said at last, ignoring his men’s sniggers, “Olaf honors the old ways. Norsewomen are strong free-thinking females. There are many women in his camp who enjoy being the wife of their leader. Even if—” he cleared his throat—“other women share the privilege.”

  “I see.” Arabella huddled deeper into her plaid.

  She was sure her jaw was hanging open but with her face feeling frozen, she couldn’t tell for certain.

  She also knew Gelis would’ve split a gut laughing to hear such wickedness.

  That the notion sent scorching heat racing to her cheeks made her wish she hadn’t crept out from behind the protective screen of the sailcloth. Her questions about the Norseman had ruined the night’s air of adventure. Conall’s face blazed as red as his hair, the oarsmen had gone embarrassingly quiet, and Darroc was scowling at them all.

  But then he brightened and flung out an arm. “There are your Seal Isles!” He grinned at her, and the awkward moment passed. “You can just see them way off to the right.”

  Arabella looked to where he pointed and her breath caught. Her eyes flew wide. And she was sure her heart stopped beating in her chest. She opened her mouth to cry out, but her throat had closed. Worse, for one terrible moment, hot tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t see a thing. But she pressed a hand to her cheek and blinked hard until the isles swam into view once again.

  The Seal Isles were more beautiful than her dreams.

  Little more than low humps on the horizon, they glowed silver in the moonlight. The sea glittered around them, sheened like liquid glass while the surrounding waters stretched cold and dark, the contrast making the Seal Isles seem all the more wondrous.

  It was a world beyond.

  And the end of a journey that now seemed to wrap around her like a cloak, immersing her in beauty, warmth, and comfort.

  “Oh!” She found her voice at last. “Th-th-they’re even more l-l-l-ovely than I’d expected.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing too late that she’d let her teeth chatter.

  “I mean they’re—”

  “God in His Heaven!” Darroc stared at her, only now seeing that her lips were blue. “You are cold!”

  He’d been jesting earlier, believing that the bluish tinge was only a trick of the silvery moonlight. And like the bampot he always seemed to be around her, he’d taken her on her word that the freezing wind didn’t faze her.

  Now….

  “Conall!” He flashed a look at his cousin, signaling him to slow the gong beats. “Hugh—take the steering oar!” he shouted to the nearest oarsman as he sprinted down the narrow aisle between the rowing benches. “Men, ship the oars! We halt here for the night.”

  He reached the bow just as his men raised the dripping sweeps out of the water and the birlinn began to lose its spanking pace and glide.

  “Damnation!” He didn’t care who heard him curse as he scrambled over the swords, axes, and other weapons wedged into the small space between the front rowing bench and the edge of the bow platform.

  He needed the kist of plaids that some fool had buried beneath two grappling hooks and a jumble of horn lanterns. Bow and stern lanterns he didn’t dare light lest he wished to trumpet their position to any passing galleys that could prove unfriendly.

  They might not have seen Black Vikings on their scouting forays, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Hoping it wasn’t so, he dropped to his knees and swept aside the clutter on top of the chest.

  Then he threw open the lid and reached in to grab as many plaids as he could carry.

  He pulled out handfuls of seaweed.

  “Yaaaaw!” He leapt to feet, flinging the stinking tangle into the water. “What devilry is this?”

  He stared down at the chest, disbelief beating through him. But there could be no mistake. It was the plaid kist. And it was filled with dead and reeking seaweed with nary a single plaid in sight.

  For one crazy mad moment, he saw again the little red fox on the boat strand, remembering how the wee beastie had crept around the harvested sea tangle. The chest of plaiding had stood only a few paces away.

  He frowned.

  To even consider that the fox had anything to do with switching the plaids for seaweed made him madder than Moraig. Furious that the possibility even crossed his mind, he spun around to glare at his men.

  “Who did this?” He jammed his hands on his hips. “Speak now or you’ll find no bol
thole to escape my wrath!”

  Silence answered him.

  His men stared at him with rounded eyes. Their bearded jaws hung open, their amazement as great as his own.

  They were innocent.

  And he was doomed.

  There was now only one way to keep Arabella warm. As if his men knew it—and that he wouldn’t be after their hides—chuckles began rising from the rowing benches.

  “Damnation!” he growled again, whipping around to seize the kist and hurl it into the sea.

  When he turned back to face his men, one of them slid a pointed glance at the birlinn’s center aisle where they’d all soon stretch out for the night. Plaid-wrapped and packed tightly together, the closeness of their bodies would keep them as warm as if they sat round a hearth fire.

  Darroc frowned again.

  The cheeky bastard who’d glanced at the aisle wriggled his eyebrows. “You told the lass how we stay warm of a night,” he reminded, grinning. “If she settles down in the middle of us, we can—”

  “And I say you give me your plaid, each of your plaids.” Darroc enjoyed how the grins slid from his men’s faces. “We sleep naked and Lady Arabella can sleep beneath our plaiding, behind her sail screen.”

  “Nae.” Arabella pushed to her feet. “I cannot allow that,” she argued, wishing she could control her shivering. But the instant she’d stood, the full wind hit her, cold and wet and too much even for a MacKenzie.

  “I’ll b-b-be fine behind the screen.” Her teeth chattering proved the lie.

  “You can sit up through the night and hold her.” Conall stamped down the aisle and clapped a hand on Darroc’s shoulder. “We kept her warm that way when we fetched her off the barrel raft.”

  Darroc glared at his cousin. “She was unconscious.”

  “And this night she’d be asleep.” Conall grinned.

  So did the oarsmen.

  Arabella bit her lip, seeing her chance.

  If she were bold.

  “He’s right.” She whipped back the sail screen, challenging him to join her. “Come, please, and we shall keep each other warm. Anything else is simply foolish.”

  He cocked a brow and for one frightening moment she thought he’d refuse. But then his eyes darkened with a look that sent hot shivers racing through her and he strode forward, climbing up onto the stern platform and yanking the sail screen into place behind them so quickly, she was in his arms before she could blink.

  Arabella sucked in a breath and felt a rush of heat stain her cheeks.

  He pulled her even closer and turned that look on her again. “For a maid who doesn’t want to be foolish, you are quite daring,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. So smooth and husky that the words curled right through her to settle low in her belly and make her tingle in ways that should send her dashing right back outside the sail screen to where his men had gone suspiciously quiet.

  “My sister is daring.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when she felt so strangely breathless and he was looking at her with such smoldering intensity. “I am—”

  “You are”—he lowered his head toward hers—“a great temptation.”

  “Me?” Arabella took a deep breath. It was hard to think of herself as anything but a quiet and dutiful daughter. She certainly couldn’t see herself tempting anyone. Yet he made her wish that she could. He also made her realize how empty and meaningless her life had been until now. And how much she hoped that would soon change.

  He was still looking at her in a way that made it seem possible. Indeed, his lips were just a few breaths away from hers and they were curving in a smile that did funny things to her knees.

  She was trembling, too.

  But this time her shivers had nothing to do with the cold.

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” The possibility pinched her heart. “I’ve told you that no suitor was ever serious enough about me to even make a bid. It truly is my sister who turns heads and bedazzles men. She—”

  “She is not here.” He lifted a hand to capture her chin and hold her face so that she couldn’t glance aside. “And if by some witchery she were, I would still see only you.”

  Arabella swallowed. “I think you are a great flatterer. Or, perhaps, you are being kind because of the history between our families.”

  He shook his head slowly. “It is because of the past that I would never lie to you, Arabella.”

  “Then what you are saying is…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  He began tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. “I believe you know. My feelings have been strong enough to make me forget my honor more than once. To forget many things! So…” He paused and the only sound was the creaking of the birlinn and the snapping of the sail screen in the wind. “You, lass, are a maid like no other. I find myself fascinated by you. Ever since the moment I first saw you. You must have sensed…”

  He paused again and closed his eyes. Almost as if the words cost him as much to speak as it did her to believe they were true.

  “I have never felt this way before.” He looked at her, the heat in his eyes stroking her soul, making her melt in his arms. “Not for any woman. Only you!”

  Arabella bit her lip. All the boldness inside her—every shred she could summon—screamed for her to throw her arms around his neck and shout that she was falling in love with him. That, truth be told, she might already be, despite his name and hers, the past, and all that had gone before. She drew a breath, wanting to tell him that only the future mattered. But her heart seemed somehow lodged in her throat, thundering wildly, and making it impossible to speak.

  This was everything she’d dreamed.

  Her dearest hopes come true.

  Yet inexplicable fear paralyzed her.

  As if he knew, he caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his chest. She could feel the strength of him, his warmth, through the rough wool of his plaid. His heart hammered against her fingertips, the beat as fierce and rapid as her own. And, heaven help her, but the moonlight streamed down on him, picking out blue-black highlights in his glossy raven hair and making her want to thrust her fingers into the strands and pull his mouth down to hers so he could kiss her as he’d done before, the wonder of his lips making her forget everything except the burning desire she felt for him.

  “Arabella, I know you are no’ ready for this.” His voice held a rough edge, silky deep and seductive. “I would never rush you, or hurt you.”

  “I know.” Was that shaky whisper her voice? “And I—I have feelings for you, too.”

  Dear saints, she’d admitted it!

  “Lass…” He tightened his arms around her and brought his mouth down over hers. She gasped, but then the world spun and somehow her fingers were in his hair, digging deep and pulling him nearer as he slanted his lips over hers, kissing her thoroughly until pleasure spilled through her. Nothing mattered except his tongue tangling with hers, his warm breath sweeter than wine and so much headier. But then he broke away and stepped back, the sudden end to their kiss almost a physical wrench.

  “You see what you do to me.” He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced aside, staring out at the glittering night sea. “If you do have feelings for me, Arabella, and doubts, this is your chance. Tell me now and we shall end it here. I swear to you on my dead mother’s soul that I will no’ touch you ever again.”

  He looked back at her. “Tell me, lass. Before it is too late.”

  Arabella pressed a hand to her breast. She was shaking. “I have already told you what is in my heart,” she said, feeling both hot and cold inside. “I do not have any doubts. I’ve never been more certain.”

  “Then”—He slid his arms around her again—“because I have doubts that this is happening, I shall have to kiss you one more time. Just to be sure that I am no’ dreaming and that the gods are truly smiling on me at last.”

  Arabella swallowed hard. She could see the passion in his eyes. Her fears spiraled away and something seemed to sp
lit within her, allowing a wild yearning to beat through her veins, heating her blood and making places that should shame her quiver with excitement.

  She wanted the kiss he’d promised.

  She ached for more.

  And then he was kissing her. It was a kiss so wondrous that she was lost as soon he slanted his lips over hers. She lifted up on her toes and leaned into him, opening her mouth freely beneath his, needing him to deepen the kiss. And he did, letting his tongue slide over and around hers, plundering her mouth and tantalizing her with the deliciousness of such startling intimacy.

  His tongue kept stroking, slow and deep. Then somehow he lowered them both to the planking of the stern platform, cradling her against him and using his body to cushion her against the wood’s hardness. They were lying side by side and through the sensual haze of their kisses, Arabella felt the long hard ridge of his manhood pressing against her hip. She gasped and stiffened, her sudden cry causing him to release her at once and pull away.

  “I’m sorry, sweetness.” He kept his arms banded loosely around her. The bright gleam of desire in his eyes said he knew exactly what had startled her. “There are some things a man can’t always control.”

  Arabella nodded, wishing she were as worldly as Gelis.

  A part of her was terrified and yet another newly awakening place inside her thrilled to know that he wanted her so much to have such a reaction.

  Indeed, she was almost dying with longing herself, so badly did she want him.

  But her surprise had damped his ardor. She didn’t need carnal knowledge to see that the heated look in his eyes was now a look of tenderness. And the arms still encircling her were holding her gently. The hungry, almost desperate way he’d clutched her to him moments ago had vanished like mist before the morning sun.

  “You should sleep now, precious,” he said then, his words proving it. “I will keep you warm till morning and then we shall speak when we reach Olaf’s isle.”

  “I am not tired.” She doubted she’d sleep the entire night. Not with such awareness crackling between them. He’d slid his hands down her back and then smoothed her hair away from her face, cradling her cheek against his shoulder. Simple touches but so weighted with meaning, each caress sending tingles of golden warmth spilling through her.