The Highlander’s Hellion

by Eliza Knight

  Greer waved away his words. “Dunrobin is one of the happiest places. Well, mostly.” She frowned.

  “Why the long face? Are ye not supposed to always be cheerful?” he mocked.

  “That isna what I said, and ye know it.” She stared out at the rolling hills that went for miles and miles until the sky touched the earth before flicking her gaze back up toward his. “Besides, no one can be cheerful all the time.”

  “Finally, ye speak some sense.”

  Greer leaned forward to stroke the mane of her mount, not realizing he still held her reins, and the back of his hand brushed her breast. He jerked away, and while sparks of pleasure coursed through her, she attempted to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Through quickly drawn breaths, she murmured to her mare about being a good lassie for not completely killing her rider.

  But her mind was on that simple brush. The way her nipple pebbled, and how very much she wanted him to do it again to see if the same thing would happen.

  After several long moments, her heartbeat had finally calmed.

  “Ye’re one of a kind, Lady Greer,” he said.

  She glanced over at him sharply, surprised at the new tone in his voice. It wasn’t jesting or mocking or angry. In fact, his expression was one quite full of admiration, and she found herself stunned once more. Thank goodness, her horse wasn’t in motion, else she might have found herself fallen over for good this time.

  “My family has said that often. Is it really so bad?” She bit her lip. Did he think she’d leaned over on purpose? Was he labeling her hellion and harlot?

  “Bad?” He appeared puzzled. “Nay, ’tis not bad at all. When most people are busy trying to conform, to fit in, to remain the way society says they should, ye’re happy and confident being yourself.”

  This time, when she glanced down at her hands, they were gripped tightly to the reins. They were a little red from the cold wind of their fast ride, so she held them to her lips and blew hot air on them.

  “Ye make me sound verra arrogant, not in the least bit humble as a lady should be.”

  Grim took her hands in his, rubbed them vigorously, and then brought them to his own lips to blow on them. She could have died and gone to paradise. The sweet heat of the friction he created against her skin mingling with the warmth of his breath sent pleasure over her. And something else… A spark of something inside her that made her crave more of his touch as new, enticing sensations wound through her. What had happened when she’d nearly drowned? She should yank her hand away. Tell him not to touch her this way. Remind him she was a lady and had entrusted herself into his care.

  But she didn’t want to.

  And wasn’t that what she struggled with most on a daily basis—the things she wanted and didn’t want, and the things she should?

  She knew exactly what her mother would expect from her at the moment. Exactly what her father would. She also knew what her sisters, Bella and Blair, would do.

  But Greer would do the opposite—which was let him blow on her hands until the sun set and rose again.

  Alas, he did stop when her fingers warmed up.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And ye were right. The ride was a test of your skill. I was curious if a lass who spent so much time on the water had been able to develop a skill for riding. Despite ye being nearly unhorsed by my smile, I think ye did a fairly good job of it.”

  Greer couldn’t help but grin now. She’d take the compliment for what it was—and she now knew she’d passed his first test. Pride swelled inside her, and so she just had to say, “Only fairly good?”

  Grim chuckled. “All right, better than most. Dinna let it go to your head.”

  “Too late.” With that, she urged her mare into a gallop once more, and this time, she swore she was going to hang on.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Ballocks! How was he going to survive the next few days with Lady Greer?

  Just over an hour into their journey, and she’d had him smiling. Then his hand had accidentally grazed her lush breast. He’d been working hard not to recall just how they’d felt when he’d held her in bed and they’d been pressed to his chest as he warmed her. Then he’d gone and grasped her hands just now to warm them… What in the bloody hell was he thinking? Did he want to prolong his own torment?

  And now, his cock was hard as stone, and he had to ride like the wind to catch up with her.

  Jon’s urging to smile and try to get along with the lass came back to haunt him. He’d scoffed then, certain he’d have no problem keeping her safe and otherwise ignoring her.

  But there was something infectious about her personality. She was so full of life and spirit. So much so, that he did in fact believe her when she said she’d not gone out to sea with the thought of ending her life. The lass was simply impulsive, as evidenced by this race—a flaw that would have to be tamed by the man she claimed for a husband.

  A sudden spark of what he refused to believe was jealousy twinged his insides. Shoving it away, he focused fully on the beast beneath him.

  Here he was, chasing after her, even holding back a little to let her have a bit more room to race, in order to think she was winning.

  He’d not thought a fig about the three tests of skill, figuring they’d be something he could come up with easily enough as they went. But now that the first test had been something fun, a race, he wanted to the next one to be just as fun, if only to see how she might surprise him again.

  “Mo chreach,” he murmured under his breath.

  Of course, it wasn’t helping matters that the view he had was of her perfectly rounded bouncing arse. An arse he remembered pressed against his groin—naked. One he’d had to rub heat into. Och, but he was going to Hell. There was no doubt. She’d been unconscious, and he’d told himself he’d not recall every dip and curve. And yet, here he was doing just that.

  He groaned and forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead. The rising hills were the perfect place for an enemy to hide. With Ina Ross and her new Sassenach husband traipsing about the countryside, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to let Greer take the lead. The lass was pushing him to distraction.

  Roderick urged Twilight into a full gallop. When he caught up to her, he was unable to stop himself from winking in her direction. He took in the brilliance of her eyes and the flushed look on her face. He could watch her all day, marveling at her beautiful face. He felt his horse slowing, relaxing as Roderick let up on his grip. Bloody hell. That wouldn’t do. He edged forward several feet until the muzzle of his horse jutted past her own and then shouted, “I won.”

  Roderick slowed his horse, and she did the same beside him, wearing a pretty blush and a wide grin.

  “Good game, Sir Grim.” She leaned over her horse, rubbing its neck.

  He grunted but then smiled all the same. “I am but your humble servant,” he said, letting the tease drip from his words.

  “If only. Then again, I’ve a feeling ye dinna know how to plait hair properly, and I do have the most unruly hair.”

  Oh, she was full of wit, and speaking of her hair… He wanted to wrap a tendril of it around his finger and give it a nice tug. So he did, without hesitation. Just when he was about to pull it to his nose to breathe in her scent, he came to his senses and dropped it.

  She slapped at his hand but laughed, too. “My brothers used to do that to me all the time.”

  “Did ye laugh at them, too?”

  “Nay, I would attempt to lead them into a duel.” She winked, showing him exactly the hellion she was.

  Roderick laughed hard at that, feeling truly amused. “And did it work?”

  “Aye, until my mother caught us.”

  “She didn’t want your brothers to hurt her precious wee angel.” He smirked.

  “Ha! Nay, it was for quite the opposite reason. She was fairly certain I would harm them.” Greer flashed a saucy grin. “And she was probably right. As ye
yourself witnessed just a few years ago.”

  “Are ye saying ye injured me on purpose, my lady?” He gave a mocking assessment, full of mirth, but his words still seemed to have hit a mark.

  “Oh, nay,” she was quick to gush. “That was quite an accident. But accidents have a tendency to happen around me—as evidenced this morning by my dog knocking over at least a dozen of your guards and servants.” As quickly as she spoke, she ceased. Her eyes widened, and she stared down toward his thigh, the exact one that ached most of the time. But for some reason, he’d had yet to experience pain today. “How is your injury?”

  “’Tis been fully healed for nigh on two years now,” he teased, though it was partially true.

  “But does it…ache at all?”

  What did she know of pain? “Nay,” he answered, his pride not allowing him to admit he felt any pain ever.

  Ballocks, but that day had been absolutely entertaining, until the spear had ended up through his leg. He’d been at Sutherland for two days with the purpose of seeing about an alliance. Greer had caught his attention then as much as she caught him up now. But after what had happened, he’d been dead-set on avoiding her for the rest of his life.

  Several of them had been racing their currachs over the firth, trying to see who could catch the most fish. The Earl of Sutherland had agreed to roast the fish over the open pits outside, and whoever caught the most would win the challenge.

  An overly zealous rower on Roderick’s boat had bumped against Greer’s the moment she was preparing to launch her spear. The jar of the colliding skiffs had caused her to throw it in the wrong direction—and it had gone right into his upper thigh, which had caused him to fall overboard.

  When he’d surfaced and been pulled out, she’d been laughing with the men on her currach. However, as soon as she’d seen the spear through his leg and blood gushing, she’d abruptly stopped. They’d all rowed back to shore, and he’d been assisted to the castle and his injury cared for. The following day, he’d insisted on going back outside and being seen participating in the festivities. He couldn’t be the invalid in bed. Not when he’d barely been able to lift his sword in anger since his sister’s death. His hold on the lairdship his father had only recently just claimed was still tenuous. The men respected him, aye, but it did not go unobserved that his brother was the man who led them into battle. If he’d fallen then, nothing would have stopped the elders of their clan from putting to a vote that Jon should be their laird.

  He hadn’t wanted that.

  Jessica wouldn’t have wanted that.

  Ye are free, and so am I.

  Her words had not been lost on him. She’d felt she was holding him back, and had thought to set him free with her death. If he had given up the lairdship, she would have died in vain, and then life would not have been worth living at all.

  So, Roderick had bucked up. But when he’d emerged from the Sutherland castle, the men had teased him, saying a lass had bested him. And when Greer had come up to apologize to him, there had been such a mischievous gleam in her eyes that he’d known from that moment that she was a termagant.

  He’d still thought that until this morning.

  “That is verra lucky,” she said. “My brother-by-marriage lost his arm in battle, and it still pains him sometimes.”

  Roderick grunted. Niall Oliphant was a hero among men. If he could admit that he felt pain, then perhaps it did not hold such a stigma. For some reason, he felt compelled to share with her. “Sometimes it aches with the rain.”

  “Ah.” She grinned, though it was small. “Well, I’m glad ’tis only some of the time. Do ye use a salve?”

  “Not all the time.”

  “Ye prefer to suffer in silence?”

  He frowned. In the span of a few hours, she was already discerning just who he was.

  “Aye, ye do. I can tell,” she teased.

  The lass was getting under his skin, and he was starting to feel…off. He liked talking to her. Teasing her. And yet, he knew, without a doubt, that getting close to her was out of the question. “’Haps another race?”

  Lady Greer’s head fell back, exposing the length of her creamy neck, and she laughed in such a manner that it took his breath away.

  He had such an urge to lean forward and kiss her. An urge he had to temper as much as he’d tempered the urge to ride up to Ina Ross’s castle gates and lay siege, if not to lay to rest once and for all the nuisance that had been plaguing the Highlands.

  Chapter Seven

  Exhaustion flooded Greer’s body. She probably should not have agreed to leave so early after nearly drowning. And she definitely should not have tempted Grim into racing—thrice.

  They’d stopped only once before reaching camp to stretch, water the horses, and relieve themselves. Now, she sat like a log on the cool evening ground watching Grim build the fire she’d helped collect wood for. She’d found a patch of moss to sit on, cushioning her sore rear. Half the men stood watch, others prepared camp, and a couple went off to see if they could find a rabbit or squirrel to cook over the fire.

  Grim shifted to the other side of the fire, maneuvering the wood into whatever he deemed to be the perfect position. But as he did so, there was a noticeable limp.

  “Is your leg paining ye?” she asked.

  He paused, knelt back on his haunches, and steadied his gaze on her. “’Tis a little sore. How about ye? I noticed ye were limping a wee bit.”

  She nodded, tucking her knees up under her chin. “Does that mean I’ve failed the test?”

  “Nay.” He grinned and struck the flint to set sparks on the tinder. “A lesser woman would have asked to stop more.”

  “I wanted to.” Saints, how she’d wanted to. The last hour had been pure misery. She’d needed to go so bad. But she’d been too afraid to ask to stop since Grim had returned to his old self after their third race, clamping his mouth shut and staring straight ahead. It was only now, that they were at camp, that he’d seemed to soften a little. “So now do I fail?”

  He chuckled, flashing his teeth. The more time they spent together, the more the twitch of his lip turned into a true smile. “Next time ask. I dinna want ye to be uncomfortable. After all, ye did nearly die not too long ago. I’ve not forgotten, and I willna hold it against ye.”

  Greer leaned her palms behind her on the ground, arching her back and stretching out the kinks in her neck. “’Tis true. I’m glad ye’ll offer me a bit of reprieve for that.”

  “I’d be a monster if I didna.” He sat down across from her, tucking a thin stick between his teeth.

  “I canna see ye being a monster. I know how ye came to be at Gleann Mórinnse.” She regretted now having called him a brute. Roderick was anything but a brute—unless of course one was his enemy.

  Roderick grunted. “Ye speak of Emilia.” He tugged out the stick and tossed it into the fire.

  Roderick’s cousin Emilia had been the daughter of the old laird MacCulloch. The man had been in such great debt that he’d sold his only daughter to the highest bidder—who happened to be Ina Ross. Luckily things had worked out for Emilia in the end, and the clan had been saved by Roderick and his father.

  “Aye. Your cousin is verra sweet.”

  “Ye’ve met her?” He winged a brow.

  “Aye. She seems happy now—thanks to her kin, ye.”

  “I canna take any credit. She met a brave man, and she deserves it.”

  “So do ye.”

  He eyed her from over the fire, the smoke making his features seem a little hazy. “I am.”

  Greer cocked her head, studying him. “Then why do ye frown so? There’s no mistaking why ye’re called Grim.”

  “A name I’ve had since I was a child.” He leaned to the side, stretched out his legs, and grasped his satchel.

  The man had long, muscular legs, a testament to his strength. And she couldn’t help but admire them. They were vastly different from her own. His were thick with muscle, bulging and dipping in some points. W
hereas hers had only a gentle curve to show a calf. Her knees felt especially bony when she beheld his, and where she knew her thighs were soft, his would be rock hard. And the scar… She was more than curious to see how the wound had healed.

  “Who would give a child the name Grim?” She forced her gaze from his legs to see he’d been watching her ogling.

  He turned and began to rifle through the satchel, producing a sack he tossed her way. “My mother did.”

  Greer caught the sack and opened it up to find it filled with roasted nuts. She poured a handful into her palm “I’m sorry to hear of your losses.” There’d been so many. Both parents, his sister… She couldn’t imagine the pain she’d feel at the loss of her family.

  “I dinna like to talk about it.”

  “I understand.” She tossed a couple nuts into her mouth and chewed as she thought about what had happened to his family. She’d be devastated, heartbroken.

  “My mother was the life of our clan, and when her light was extinguished, it felt that a dark cloud hovered over us. Much was the same when we lost my Da and Jessica.”

  Greer was quiet, offering her ear, understanding it meant something that he had chosen to open up to her just after he’d said he didn’t like to talk about it.

  “Well, in any case,” he continued, “I offer protection. I offer my life.” He stood up, the muscles in his back and arms flexing through his shirt in a way she wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  How odd. She’d never before been interested in the way a man’s body moved, but there was just something about Grim that forced her to keep looking. To think about it. To wish he’d take that shirt off…

  Greer gasped at that particular thought, and then coughed to try to cover it up.

  “Are ye all right? Is the smoke too much? ’Haps ye ought to move.”

  She waved at the smoke, pretending that was exactly the reason behind her cough. “I’ll be all right. Ye’re a fine protector, Grim. I’m certain your clan is grateful for it. As am I.”