Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Oh my.

  Alice froze. She forgot to breathe.

  Beautiful, pure, braw, and a very naked Highlander stood bent over a basin, ladling water over his head. With a grand shake, Quinn straightened while he pushed his hair away from his face. Streams of water trickled down his body, making gooseflesh stand proud…every muscle flex.

  Too stunned to avert her gaze, Alice took it all in. Chestnut locks dripping onto shoulders powerful enough to pull a horse cart. From there the water streamed to a lean waist—lean but sturdy. She squeezed the bundle of clothing tighter as her assessment continued. Aye, his buttocks were smoothly chiseled like marble—but clearly not hewn of stone—hewn of dimpled, muscular flesh.

  Without noticing her presence, Quinn splashed under his arms, the sunlight making the water glisten as it slid down him.

  Alice’s mouth went dry. If only she could touch him—sink her fingers into his skin. She took a step forward, a twig snapping beneath her toes.

  Snatching the razor, he faced her, eyes blazing.

  Taking a step back, she tried not to look, but she couldn’t help herself. He was long and sleek—potent and oh, so very male. Something deep inside filled with longing. Her breasts grew heavy, making the need to touch him grow tenfold. “Ahhhh…” Was he as hard as he looked? Was the hair on his chest soft or coarse?

  “Hello Alice.” In the blink of an eye, he set the razor on the table and covered himself with the blanket. “You brought my things,” his voice sounded soft and incredibly low.

  The tone alone made her tremble, excruciatingly aware of every inch of his powerful body. Relieved but a wee bit disappointed with his modesty, Alice gulped and stared at Quinn’s chest, heaving with his every breath. One of the roosters from the chicken yard crowed, making her snap her gaze to the man’s face.

  She held out the bundle. “Here you are.”

  He set them on the board and stepped nearer. “You’ve a fire coursing through your blood right now, haven’t you, lass?”

  She was shaking yet couldn’t force herself to turn and run. A fire coursing through her blood? It felt more like the sizzling coals made hotter by the smithy’s bellows. “H-how did you know?”

  “The same frenzied desire is thrumming through my veins as well.” He slid his palm to her waist, long black eyelashes lowering while his gaze dipped to her mouth. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you and I’ll return to my bath.”

  Alice commanded herself to turn around and flee, but her legs refused to budge. Tingles raced across her skin. She couldn’t breathe. The cock crowed again, and she barely heard it. Quinn’s lips neared—beautifully full lips, slightly parted and looking like sin. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand grasped his waist—cool flesh, slightly damp. But his wee gasp made her melt like molten gold. “I—”

  “Say it.”

  “Please.” As she raised her chin, his mouth covered hers, hot, wet, demanding.

  Something exploded inside her. This man personified the most forbidden fruit in all of Christendom, and she was coming undone in his arms. His kiss consumed her, uplifted her, made her ravenous. His soul poured into her like aged whisky until she was intoxicated with pleasure.

  Digging her fingers into the bands of flesh she’d craved to touch only moments ago, she could not fight him.

  Even if he is the enemy.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he cupped her cheek and slowly drew away. “I shouldn’t have acted so brazenly. Forgive me.”

  Clutching her fists beneath her chin, Alice skittered backward. “This can never be.”

  “Unless…”

  “Nay. As soon as you are well enough, you must go.” She glanced out toward the sea. “Gran should have returned by now. She could arrive at any moment.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you ken what may have detained her?”

  Alice shook her head. “I aim to return to Rothesay as soon as you’re on your way.”

  “With the food and brisk water, I’ve grown stronger already. I’m sure the fighting has been quelled. I’ll escort you across on the morrow. Besides, I need to fetch my horse.”

  Chapter Nine

  For the love of God, why hadn’t he exercised some bloody control? What was it about Alice that turned him into a lovesick fool? Whenever the woman came near, his mind blanked, his heart raced like hummingbird wings, and his bedamned cock turned into an iron rod.

  She was a bloody Lamont. The granddaughter of James Lamont, no less. In her eyes, he had to be a completely, utterly unprincipled scoundrel.

  He must regain his strength and his senses and take control posthaste. Moreover, if he spent one more minute in the cottage surrounded by the scent of enticing, tempting, alluring Alice, he might make good on his reputation of scoundrel. And all because of her. She drove him mad with lust—the longing to put his hands on her body, to explore every inch of her flesh with his mouth. The thirst to lick her most intimate places and watch her face as she lost control.

  Damnation, the woman drove him mad, insane, and completely ravenous.

  Heading for the Toward Castle ruins, Quinn spent the remainder of the day forcing himself to rebuild his strength. He never should have kissed her. Heaven forbid, if she’d been naked he would have lost all control. Such an irresponsible act would have rekindled a clan feud, doubtless bringing Lamont allies from all corners of the Lowlands to put Campbell lands to fire and sword.

  He considered strapping on his weapons and leaving, but he’d promised to help the lass find her grandmother, bittersweet as his plan was. The idea of traveling with Alice tempted him beyond reason. On one hand, it might be nice to come to know her better—find out more about her—her likes, her loves, her plans for her future. But such musings were akin to the betrayal of his clan and kin. There could be no plausible future for them. A wee tryst would not be acceptable, either. Alice was too precious. She deserved better than to be wooed and cast aside. Worse, every time Quinn looked into her blaeberry eyes he wanted to kiss the lass. Hell, he wanted to do a great deal more than kiss.

  If only she were a simple maid, but no. The woman had to be a chieftain in her own right—the only living heir of the Lamont chieftain murdered by Quinn’s grandfather. Of all the clans who feuded with the Campbells, Lamont was the most hated. Before the massacre, James had led his kin on raids putting Campbell women and children under the knife. They’d reived Campbell cattle, burned out their crofts and attacked their castles, and Quinn’s grandfather had repaid their deeds tenfold.

  By the time Quinn returned to the cottage, he was bone-weary, but a good fatigue, the kind that made a man feel as if he is on the mend after a bout of sickness. The sun shone like an immense yellow ball on the horizon of the western sky and, after a polite knock, he strode inside the abode—far more meager than the lass deserved.

  Alice stood from the rocking chair and set her mending aside, blushing scarlet. “I-I wasn’t certain you’d return.”

  Was she embarrassed about catching him bathing? He hadn’t given his nakedness a second thought, other than wishing they’d been naked together—other than wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped inside. “I needed to regain my strength. Laying abed would have only served to make me stiffer.”

  She had brushed out her hair and the waves shimmered in the candlelight as she gestured with an upturned palm. “I made roast chicken.”

  “Is that what smells delicious?”

  “Mm hmm.” Feminine hips swayed while she moved to the hob and tugged on the hob’s cast iron handle—quite an extravagant apparatus for a crofter’s cottage. “If you’ll open the bottle of wine, I’ll set to serving.”

  Quinn found the squat flagon on the table and used his dirk to cut away the wax sealing the cork. “You look bonny this eve.”

  “Oh?” Placing the chicken on the table, she didn’t seem to appreciate the compliment.
“Not any different than usual, I suppose.”

  “Och, you’d look bonny dressed as a ragamuffin. The first time I laid eyes on you I thought ye were the loveliest creature I’d seen in all my days.”

  A wee smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A selkie.”

  “Nay, that’s what my brother said. But I thought…”

  She smoothed her hands down her apron. “Yes?”

  “I thought you were as beautiful as a goddess.”

  His words produced not a smile or blush, but a coy expression with wide, teasing eyes. “You’ve seen many goddesses, have you?”

  “Dreamed of them quite a bit.” He grinned lopsidedly. “As it turns out I was dreaming of you.”

  Alice sat and nodded to the bench opposite. “Och, Lord Quinn, your banter is enchanting. If I’d not been born a Lamont, I might think you wanted to court me.”

  “Why should I not?” he said, barely believing such a question had slipped through his lips. “I enjoyed kissing you.” Mercy, can I not keep my mouth closed?

  The purse to her lips transformed into a grimace as she turned redder than a blood rose. Not meeting his gaze, she picked up a carving knife and pointed it across the table. “We must pretend that never happened.” She set to chopping up the chicken as if it were demonic.

  Quinn leaned in. “Allow me, if you will.”

  Alice presented him with the knife’s handle. “I never should have brought out your clothes.” Ah, so the incident out back was what had her bothered.

  Quinn carefully sliced a juicy breast and set it on her plate. “It was very kind of you to do so.”

  “But weren’t you…”

  Ignoring the fluttering low in his gut, he focused on the task as he served himself. “Hmm?”

  She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Embarrassed?”

  “Nay.” He looked her in the eye but doing so peeled away a bit of the cool exterior he was trying to project. God Almighty, she was bonny. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way.”

  Alice suddenly became very interested in her food, pushing her chicken about the plate with her knife. “You’re making me nervous now.”

  “Forgive me. ’Tis difficult not to look at you.”

  “Well, you must stop.”

  “Why, because my grandfather was a backstabbing tyrant?”

  Her knife stilled. “He killed my father and destroyed my clan—after my grandfather had surrendered.”

  “Aye, he did. Then he paid the price for his tyranny on the Grassmarket gallows.”

  “You have his blood coursing inside you.”

  Quinn slid his hand across the table and stopped right before he touched her fingers. “I am not my grandfather. Furthermore, I do not and shall never condone his actions at Dunoon.”

  Alice said nothing as she ignored his reach and poured the wine.

  Her silence may as well have been a dagger stabbing Quinn in the heart. “I wish I could go back in time and convince him not to attack.”

  “But you cannot.” She picked up her glass and sipped while watching him from behind it. Aye, Miss Lamont was quite good at hiding her emotions, though her eyes betrayed the pain lurking in her heart.

  Quinn shoved his plate aside. “I thought all the Lamonts were…”

  “Dead?” Her whisper was like a breath of frost.

  “Aye.” He took a long drink, wishing he had something more potent. Perhaps she was right. After his shave, he should have taken his gear and left. Without his mount he mightn’t have made it all the way to Inveraray, but he would have had a good start. If only Alice’s grandmother had returned, he would be free to go on his way.

  He’d never see Alice again—leave her to return to her duties and he to his.

  Though the thought of turning his back only served to make the pain in his shoulder ache all the more. Did he have a life before he’d met Alice?

  “Most were killed,” She continued, “some escaped to the Lowlands.”

  “But not you?”

  “Gran hid me. She says I am the clan’s last hope.”

  “And you have every reason to hate me.”

  “But I do not.” Alice dabbed her lips with a linen cloth. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “I couldn’t help myself.” Unable to sit without touching her, Quinn moved around the table and grasped her hand. “I want to kiss you again.”

  But this time he must exercise utter control. Out by the well he’d acted roguishly, taking her in his arms and plundering her mouth like an alehouse wench. He didn’t want to ever disrespect her. Alice wasn’t just a woman for whom he lusted, she deserved to be worshipped. Her entire clan had been wronged by his kin. If only he could find a way to help her—to make up for the sins committed four and twenty years ago.

  Quinn moistened his lips and bowed over her hand, hovering for a moment. The soft fragrance of roast and rosemary mixed with her—the same delicious scent of woman he’d breathed in when he’d kissed her. Closing his eyes, his entire body ached to have her, but if he never performed another chivalrous act in his life, he would control himself in this moment. The warmth of her hand caressed his lips as he gently kissed.

  Alice’s sharp inhale made Quinn’s heartbeat stutter. On the outside he didn’t show the intensity of his desire. Rather he drew her knuckles to his cheek and brushed them along his face. “I am and shall always be at your service, m’lady.”

  “H-how do you manage it?”

  He straightened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Every time you look at me or touch me, you make my insides turn molten.” She tugged her hand from his grasp and wiped the back of it on her skirts. “You have no right to seduce me.”

  “I didn’t mean to…” Quinn groaned and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I meant to show you respect.”

  “By kissing my hand?”

  “Aye, that’s what courters are expected to do.”

  “Courters?”

  Bloody hell, the more he said, the deeper he dug his grave. Quinn couldn’t propose marriage to a Lamont.

  Alice thrust her finger toward the pallet. “You have had a long day and quite obviously need rest else your shoulder will never heal. And do not expect me to stay up for nights on end spooning a tincture into your mouth. I simply will not do it.”

  Well aware she was fighting her own internal battle and ignoring his advances, he bowed. “I’m feeling much stronger now than I did this morn.”

  Looking away, she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “T-t-that’s quite good because as I recall, your knees were rather wobbly.”

  “Alice.”

  “Aye?”

  “I want to kiss you again.”

  She raised her palms in front of her face. “Absolutely not. We cannot ever do that again. As you just so aptly demonstrated, merely kissing my hand is dangerous.”

  “You’re right.” A heavy weight burdened his shoulders while Quinn strode toward his pallet, putting the table between them—not much of a barrier, but it would have to serve to remind him of his place. “’Tis a good thing we are setting out on the morrow.”

  “I think I should go alone.”

  He chopped his hand through the air. “Absolutely not.”

  “I beg your pardon, next you’ll be telling me you forbid it.”

  “I doubt you’d listen if I did.” Quinn started back around the table but clenched his fists and forced himself to stop. “It is not safe for a woman to venture out alone. What if you fell victim to outlaws?”

  “Aye, as if you’d be much good to me with your injured shoulder.”

  Quinn rolled the offending wing, willing himself not to wince at the pain. “’Tis coming good. By the morrow I’ll be swinging my sword with either hand.”

  “I doubt that. Not even a Campbell heals so quickly.” She stood taller. “I can care for myself—have been all my days.”

  He shifted his fists to his hips. “Can you now?”

  With an indignant spar
k in her eye, the saucy lass raised her chin. “Aye.”

  “You sound quite self-assured.”

  “I keep a dagger up my sleeve.”

  “A dagger?” Unable to resist, Quinn sauntered around the table. “What else?”

  “I-I’m a fast runner. You saw it for yourself in the wood.”

  “Hmm.” He eyed her from head to toe, approaching like a wildcat. Damn the bloody table. Quinn needed no weapons to make his point. As soon as he was near enough, he snatched her wrist and spun her around, putting her back against his chest.

  He grunted. Stars shot through his vision. Jesu, his shoulder burned like a bastard.

  “No!” she shouted, trying to stomp on his instep, but even through the pain, he was faster.

  Quinn used his good arm to restrain her while he fished inside her sleeve and found the knife. “Is this your defense against vile miscreants like me?”

  Her body tensed. “I told you where I hid it. The outcome would have been different had I surprised you.”

  “Many a woman conceals such a weapon in her sleeve or her garters.” He tossed the dagger onto the table. “But a wee knife is no match for a dirk, musket, sword, or any manner of weapons.”

  She raised her chin, twisting enough to meet his gaze. “So, what would you have me do, strap a pistol to my waist?”

  Good God, she personified temptation. Pert lips, the soft curves of her bottom flush against his loins. “I would have you allow me to accompany you on your quest to find your grandmother,” he growled, his voice rasping. “Let me prove to you that I am not my grandfather.”

  She studied him, her gaze sliding to his mouth. Did she want to kiss him as much as he craved to touch her, just once more? Quinn dipped his chin a fraction. As if pulled by a magnetic force, she stretched nearer.

  “How can I trust you?” she whispered.

  If he kissed her now, he might lose what little trust he’d earned. “I give you my word.”

  “That’s what your grandfather said to mine—afore he ordered the executions.”

  Jesu.

  Quinn released his grasp and snatched the dagger from the table. “Then I give you leave to drive this blade into my heart.”