Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (18 page)

24

While Rory was being returned to the dungeons, Isobel searched for a weapon in Logan’s room. It seemed like it took forever, but she finally found a small, bone-handled hunting dirk buried deep within a chest. It would have to do.

She made her way to the ground floor, making sure no one followed her. She dared not light a torch, and had to feel her way in the darkness, along the walls. It was damp, wet, and cold. She knew where the dungeons were because she’d visited the storehouse on the ground floor when she needed herbs.

“Is someone there?” Rory called.

Isobel let Rory’s voice guide her but did not answer him. She finally huddled near the dungeon, between barrels and casks, to await the men who planned to take Rory’s life. She could not let Rory know she was there because she needed the element of surprise if she were to save him.

She felt a rat scurry by her foot but managed not to cry out.

Soon enough she heard footsteps and saw torchlight in the corridor.

Two men turned the corner. She recognized them as scouts of Rolph’s patrol. Taking a breath, she jumped in front of the bars to Rory’s cell, waving her small dirk, giving the men a start.

“Isobel! What do ye?” Rory said.

“These men have come to kill ye,” she said.

The taller of the two men, solidly built, with a large belly and orange hair and beard, laughed. “How sweet. Leith’s witch thinks to save the sodding MacKinnon swine.”

“Ye will ha’e to kill me first,” she said.

The other man held the torch high as his comrade unsheathed his sword, the steel glinting in the firelight. He looked worried. “How did ye ken we’d be here, witch? Did ye have a vision of us? Was it the Sight?”

Rory gripped the bars by Isobel’s head. “Dunna do this, Isobel! I can fight them myself!”

“Ye ha’e no weapon. It wouldna be a fair fight.”

“I am more man than both of them combined.”

The man took a step closer to Isobel and she lashed out with her dirk, cutting his arm and drawing blood. “Let me remind ye that the laird wants the MacKinnon
alive
,” she said.

Blood dripped from Isobel’s dirk and from the man’s arm onto the stone floor. His face burned with rage. “Ye bitch! The laird is a hesitating fool! We dunna take our orders from him and now ye’ll die too!”

“Who sent ye to do this vile deed?” she cried.

“Isobel!” Rory shouted.

“Enough,” the man said. “I heard witches dunna like fire.” He shoved the torch toward her face and she backed against the cell bars. He laughed.

The other man raised his sword high and Isobel prepared for the blow, holding her dagger, ready to strike him.

The blade flashed but dropped ineffectively to the floor as the man fell forward, a sword in his back.

Leith stepped from the shadows, his face hard. He was angrier then she’d ever seen him.

The other man thought to burn Isobel with the torch, to finish what he’d hinted at, but Leith quickly dispatched him with a dagger he pulled from his boot.

Isobel sagged against the cell bars and Rory stroked her face, trying to calm her.

“What do ye here, Isobel? Putting yerself in harm’s way for this man Rory?”

He stepped closer to her and pulled her to her feet, away from Rory’s touch.

“I heard men whispering through the Laird’s Ear in Logan’s room. They said they’d been commanded to kill Rory after midnight, but no’ by ye.”

“By who?”

“I dunna know.”

“And ye came to stop them by yerself? Ye risked yer life for Rory? Why didn’t ye come to me?”

“I tried to tell ye when we were dancing but ye would no’ listen! And then after ye made me the e’ening’s entertainment and humiliated me, I could no’ tell ye in front of the crowd. There was no time to waste….”

Rory watched them with curiosity.

Errol now stood behind Leith, holding a torch, noting the men lying dead at his feet.

“Ye despise Rory,” Isobel continued. “And I am nothing more than a Seer to ye, a bit of entertainment for yer clan. I didna think ye would help me, that ye would help us.”

Leith’s amber eyes narrowed as he studied her. He traced a lean finger softly over her cheek. She jerked back from his touch and he frowned. “Yer wrong, Isobel. I would always come to yer aid.”

“As long as ye need a Seer? Or someone to make a fool of? But after that?” She sighed, exhausted. “Please, let Rory go. Return him to his clan.”

“He will stay here until I decide what’s to be done with his sorry hide.”

“These men tried to kill him! Whoever wanted him dead may send someone to finish the job!”

“I will place him under guard with men I trust unequivocally. And I will discover who sent these men to kill Rory.”

“That’s no’ good enough!”

“Come upstairs now, Isobel. There is no more to be said on the matter.”

“There is plenty more to be said!”

“Isobel, come here,” Rory said.

She held her chin high and gripped Rory’s hands where his covered the cell bars.

“What is it, Rory?”

Quickly, he kissed her where their lips could just meet between the bars. Isobel pulled back in confusion.

“I’ll wager that wasn’t as satisfying as that night behind the tavern, but it will ha’e to do. Thank ye for saving my life, yet again. That’s twice now, and I’m grateful. Even though I may no’ have much time left before the swaggering lout hangs me.”

“Kiss her again and I will kill ye myself,” Leith said. “Right now.”

Rory laughed and descended back into the shadows of his cell. “It would be a good fight, between us, Maclean,” Rory said. “Of that ye can be sure.”

Leith took Isobel’s hand and led her through the dark corridors, Errol following them.

“I will take care of the bodies,” Errol said. “An example will be made, in case anyone else feels compelled to finish the job they didna complete. And I will help guard the MacKinnon myself.”

Leith nodded, his face grim. He continued to lead her upstairs, not letting go of her hand until they were inside his room and the door was latched tightly shut.

“Ye could ha’e been killed,” he said, gripping her shoulders now.

“And then who would tell yer future?” Isobel said bitterly. “Who would help ye to win the hand of the beautiful yet heartless Lady Katherine? Who would ye make a fool of in front of yer clan and the MacKinnon prisoner?” She jerked away from him, turning her back on him.

He came and stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his big body, the tension in his stance. “Isobel, ye put yerself at great risk and this troubles me. I dunna wish to see ye hurt. I couldna abide the thought of ye….”

“Aiding my former lover?”

“Dead.”

She turned to face him, confused. “I dunna understand….”

“Isobel, the thought of ye no’ being near me…I canna bear it. Dunna e’er be so foolish again.”

“But ye made Rory watch when ye kissed me. ‘Twas a kiss solely meant to infuriate the prisoner.”

“I didna know he was there, I swear it. I kissed ye because I wanted to kiss ye, as I’m going to do now.”

He pulled her roughly into his embrace and gave her no chance to prepare for the harsh demands of his mouth on her own. He drove the wet spear of his tongue firmly inside and a hum of pleasure escaped her before she could stop it. She wound her hands into his hair and kissed him back, surprising herself with the fierceness of her response.

He made a hungry male noise, a low growl. “Isobel, I need more than a kiss. I need to touch ye as a man touches a woman he desires.”

“But ye are betrothed to another,” she breathed.

“It doesna matter. That will be a marriage of convenience, something that is politically important to both clans, to avoid future bloodshed. I will marry her simply to honor the vow I made to Logan.”

“So ye would touch me, as a man touches a woman, and then what? What if I would conceive a child?”

“Ye will stay here with me, in this keep. Always. I would always take care of ye.

Protect ye. As well as any children we might conceive.”

“While ye are married to another? Ye are proposing that I live here as yer Seer and yer mistress?”

“I canna sleep at night for thinking of ye, of yer soft, little body, round in all the right places, of how I want to drive myself deep inside ye, and forget all else for a while.”

She breathed heavily, taking in his scent as he pushed her against the wall. “Isobel, please….”

“I am no’ made that way, Leith Maclean! I could no’ share ye with another woman.”

Isobel rarely lost control of her feelings and she did so now, more completely and spectacularly than those who were prone to hysterical outbursts. “I canna be used to entertain yer clan, and I dunna want ye to kiss me unless ye want to!

“When I came here, it didna take me long to understand the state of affairs. Yer duty bound to honor yer vow to yer brother but yer blind to e’erything else!” She did not let him speak.

“Ye would touch me and I would lose my heart and it would hurt too much! I canna lose my heart to ye and then watch ye take yer vows with another woman….”

Finally, he said, “I see.” He stroked her hair. “Ye dunna realize it, Isobel, but there are tears on yer cheeks.” He wiped them away with his thumb.

“Ye brought me here and I ha’e no’ helped ye in any way!” she cried.

“Yer wrong. Ye ha’e taught me a great deal.”

She looked at him in astonishment. And then she kissed him, her tongue tentatively exploring his mouth before her lips found his neck and her hands traced the firm muscles of his chest.

With his knee, he pushed her legs apart and leaned into her. She felt the hard length of him, hot through his trews.

She sighed. “’Tis true that I feel alive when yer near me, Leith Maclean. ‘Tis true that yer touch makes me tremble and feel things I ha’e ne’er felt.”

His large hand cupped her breast and his fingers circled her nipple. A soft moan escaped her mouth. “Ye can ha’e me,” she breathed, “if ye let Rory go.”

He laughed but it was not cruel. “This is the price ye demand? That I release yer former lover back to his clan?”

“Yea.”

He frowned. “Do ye love him, Isobel?”

“Love? Nay. He stole a few kisses from me when we were young.”

He gripped her chin softly with his hand. “Yet ye defend him ferociously and fight for his freedom.”

“I dunna agree with thieving but he was merely trying to survive. He doesna deserve to hang for it or be starved in a dungeon.” She frowned. “So ye see, ye chose a Seer who is ignorant of men to help ye win the heart of the woman ye love.”

“I dunna love Lady Katherine. I loved once, and marrying for that reason was…a hurtful disaster.”

“Ye regret marrying Jocelin?”

“Nay. I….”

“Yer heart was broken the day she died.”

He nodded and gazed at her with an intensity she did not understand.

“Isobel, I dunna think ye ignorant of the things that matter. Whether or no’ ye’ve e’er taken a lover, you understand kindness, compassion…love.”

She stilled her trembling hands. “Ye could show me the other things,” she said softly, “the physical things I am ignorant of.”

He arched a dark brow. “Yer offering yerself to me, the arrogant, callous Highlander, for the price of this man Rory’s freedom?”

She nodded.

“And ye do so willingly? For I assure ye, it willna be a punishment. It willna be something to merely endure, but an intense pleasure.”

“Aye, but I would first ha’e yer word about Rory.”

“Nay.”

“Nay?”

“When ye give yerself to me, I want ye to give yerself freely, with no conditions attached. It can be no other way between us.”

“What of Rory?” she asked.

“Leave me now,” he said. “’Tis been a vera draining night. Get some sleep. We will talk in the morning.”

“Ye willna hang Rory?”

“Och, I give ye my word I willna hang him!”

“And ye willna torture him?”

“Ye ask a lot of me,” he said, “for I ha’e imagined doing just that.”

“Promise me ye willna torture him!”

He rubbed his eyes. “I willna torture him, Isobel, now go and get some sleep.”

Isobel felt a stabbing hurt as he turned his back to her and dismissed her. She left his room quietly, her heart heavy with an emotion that surprised her—regret.

25

Isobel tossed and turned. She couldna sleep for thinking of the Highlander, of his wounded and broken heart, of her own aching emotions.

She kept hearing her da’s words in her head:
Isobel, love doesna always come to us on our own terms. We have to decide whether or no’ to accept it into our lives, to risk all for it when it does come.

Isobel wondered, had it come to her heart, sweeping in like a powerful storm off the sea, hitting her with an unexpected force? It would not be wise to love the Highlander. She feared her own heart would end up as battered and broken as his. And yet, she was drawn to him.

Quietly, she rose from the bed, slipped a shawl over her chemise, and made her way toward his bedchamber. E’eryone else was abed at the late hour and the halls were quiet and dimly lit. His bedchamber was not far from hers, and when she stood before his door, she hesitated. She pushed on it, surprised it was not latched, and entered as quietly as she could. The room was in shadow, the fire in the hearth burning low. She latched the door firmly behind her.

Leith lay on the bed, sprawled in a fitful slumber, the cover reaching only to his waist, his chest naked. His long lashes were dark against his pillow, his mouth curved into a slight frown. Even in slumber he was magnificent, perhaps the more so for his vulnerability; the warrior’s mask was not in place.

She slipped into bed beside him and touched his shoulder softly. “Leith….”

He opened his eyes and rolled on top of her, pinning her forcefully beneath him.

“Leith! It’s Isobel!” She struggled against him.

He finally focused on her face and rolled off of her, lying on his side next to her. “Och, ne’er wake a Highlander from sleep like that! Many a night I’ve slept with weapons by my side expecting the worst. ‘Tis good I didna have a dirk beneath my pillow this night. What do ye here, Isobel? Did ye ha’e a vision?”

“Nay.” She sat up and rubbed her arms against the chill. Confusion lit his warm, amber eyes.

“I came back because I want to…give myself to ye freely. With no conditions.”

He arched a dark brow. “Truly?”

“Like ye, I face my future boldly. I ken what I desire. I willna regret giving myself to ye, Leith Maclean. I will regret the more so no’ giving myself to ye freely.”

He sat up, studying her face in wonder, and stroked her hair.

“Why do ye ne’er speak of yer first wife Jocelin?”

His hand stilled for a moment. “’Tis too painful to speak of her.”

“Did ye love her?”

“Aye. Vera much.”

Isobel was silent.

“We were young. Sometimes it seems like so long ago and other times, it seems like it was just yesterday. Isobel, yer the first woman since Jocelin who has made me feel alive. Yer brave and compassionate and ye ha’e a ready wit. Ye say what ye think without worry of how others may judge ye. I admire that. I like battling wits with ye. I like ha’ing ye at my side. I desire ye in the primal way a man desires a beautiful woman. Yet I ken I canna give ye marriage. I ken I canna give ye a perfect life or all that ye desire without disregarding the vow I made to Logan, without putting my clan at great risk, but I will always take care of ye.”

Isobel sighed. She did want to know a man’s touch, and not just any man’s, but Leith’s. It was true that he cared for her; his eyes held something, some emotion, some light whenever he looked at her. And there was no doubt about his ardor when he held her close. But there was a reserve, a withholding in him that she might never break through. He was wounded. The world they lived in was violent and peace was often elusive. He’d loved and lost and withheld himself from standing vulnerable on that rocky precipice again. And yet he was offering her his body, his protection, a part of himself, the small part he
was
able to give.

She would give herself to him this night but she would not stay to see him marry another woman. She would not stay to see him sacrifice himself for his clan and for future peace.

She would love him this night, she would ken his touch, and she would carry it with her for the rest of her life. When the winds blew across the moors, she would think of him. When the sun shone back at her from the surface of a shiny loch, she would think of him. When the moon burned bone-white in the summer sky and when she as an auld, auld woman, she would still think of him and this night. She would be sad to her soul, but she would be like the herbs that slept in the earth over the long winter—like betony and yarrow, tansy and clover—and be awakened in the Spring, still yearning for light, still reaching for her memories of him. As long as her veins would thump with life and her heart would beat, each beat would say
Leith, Leith, only Leith, the Maclean, the Black Wolf, the man.

When she stood in a different life, wrinkled and lined, and looked out across the moor and saw the leaves rippling in the wind, when she saw the blowing, changing sky and the mountains looking down at her, she would still feel his touch, his breath, his beating heart inside her.

The candles in Leith’s room burned low, casting golden shadows on the stone floor, the exotic rugs, the paneled wood, splashing softly across his rugged face. She rose to her knees and placed her hands on his chest as he half reclined. She trembled as she leaned down and softly captured his mouth. He growled, a low masculine sound, and the intensity of the kiss grew.

“There is only one reason I do this tonight,” she breathed, “because I want to.” She clung to him then and he wrapped his arms around her, murmuring against her hair. “Isobel, my beautiful Isobel.”

She had longed for this, the pleasure of his touch. She reveled in the sound of her name escaping his lips. He was real, not a dream this time, warm beneath her fingers. Her hands caressed his naked back, his arms, his chest, learning the feel of his tight muscles.

He smiled wickedly. “I am naked beneath this cover but yer dressed. A fact we must remedy immediately.”

Isobel rose shyly from the bed and stood by the hearth.

“Yer no’ afraid of me, of this face?”  he asked.

“Nay.” She almost said, “I love that face,” but stopped herself. Bravely, and without fear now, she removed her shawl and her chemise. His amber eyes drank in every inch of her creamy skin, lingering on her upthrust nipples and her hips.

She rejoined him on the bed, where he pulled her into his arms. Despite the rapid beat of her heart, the solid feel of his warrior’s body against hers felt natural. She removed the leather thong from his hair and freed it, winding her fingers through it. “Ye are no’ a dream this time,” she said.

“Nay, I’m flesh and blood and desiring ye beyond all else.”               His hand caressed her shoulders and gently cupped her breast. He bent his dark head and suckled and she gasped at the heat and pleasure of his lips and tongue.

“I dunna want ye to fear what will happen between us,” he said. “I would ne’er hurt ye.”

“I am no’ afraid, Highlander.” She caressed his skin, her own lips seeking to touch and kiss his chest. His breath caught and his grip on her arms tightened, but not painfully.

He tangled his hands through her hair. “Yer mine, Isobel MacKinnon. Swear it. For I canna share ye with any other man. I ken it is a lot to ask.”

She closed her eyes and steadied herself, fearing she could not speak for her emotions. “I am yers, Highlander. Willingly. Only yers. For this night.”

“Oh Isobel, one night with ye will ne’er be enough.”

She brushed a dark lock of hair from his face, trying not to think that soon she would be gone from this place, taking her memories of him with her for always.

His hand began to trail lower, skimming her taut stomach, hungrily caressing her thigh. She stopped him and he looked at her, a question in his eyes.

In answer, she removed the cover so she could look at him, at his muscled thighs, the wicked, male hardness of him. His breathing became more ragged, his eyes fevered with lust. “Leith, I want yer hands on me….”

He growled low and moaned, cupping her breast, laving it with his tongue, causing her to cry out in ecstasy. His breath and the wetness of his tongue on her erect nipple caused her to quiver. His other hand cupped and squeezed her other breast, causing a deep longing to build inside her. “Lay back.”

She was powerless to disobey him. He traced a finger across the hollow between her hips. Instinctively she turned and wrapped a thigh around his, arching her hips, pressing against him, her hand tangling in his hair, in the soft, dark richness of it.

His hands began to roam at will and soon he had gently forced her legs apart, plunging his fingers inside her. She cried out with pleasure as his fingers explored her warmth, her wetness, dipping and swirling in a heated rhythm.

“Yer wet, silky, swollen,” he breathed, “ready for me.” She arched in response to the sensuous words falling from his tongue, longing for him to thrust deeper. She opened her eyes and the urgency in his startled her for a moment. “Leith?”

He took her hand and placed it on his manhood. “Mayhap if ye learn the touch and feel of me, ye willna fear it as much when I am inside ye.”

Isobel felt a flush of heat thinking of him inside her. He was large and hot. She remembered the violent sounds of the couple making love by the loch, but now she kent they were not sounds of pain.

“Would that be alright, love?” he asked, pulling her close, covering her with the length of his hard body, and kissing her warmly.

Her hand still covered his shaft and he adjusted his thigh, showing her how to move to her hand along his length. “Touch me. I’ll guide ye.” His eyes pleaded with hers and his flesh seemed to swell even more at her touch.

Tentatively, she stroked the hard, warm flesh, the spear of his shaft, making him groan. “Ye see how ye make me feel, Isobel.”

He was stretching, growing longer, thicker, because of her touch. She began to stroke him in earnest and his teeth sank lightly into her shoulder. She studied his erection in wonder, the skin stretched with want and aching need. “Ye like this?” she asked.

He groaned. “Aye. I’d like yer mouth on me, too.”

“I ne’er…I dunna know….”

“I will guide ye. I’ll show ye how to taste me. Do ye want to taste me, the most intimate part of me?”

She nodded. He lay on his back and she bent her knees, leaning over him and slowly bending her head to kiss the smooth tip of his root and then the long, hard length of him.

“Take me in yer mouth,” he groaned, and nearly exploded when she did.

She began to lathe him, his hand guiding her hand as she continued to stroke him. She delighted with each thrust of his hips, reveled in the earthy, salty taste of him. She found herself groaning as his hand found her backside and then nestled between her legs, plunging inside her again. “Isobel, I canna hold back much longer.”

She arched into his fingers and sucked him harder, the heat rising to a crescendo in her body. And then he stopped her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Ye dunna like it?”

“Oh I like it, too much. I amgoing to come. I dunna want to spill my seed yet. I want to be inside ye when that happens.”

He turned her over gently so she lay on her back nearly beneath him. He began to caress her shoulders and bent to suckle her breasts again. The hot, aching pleasure was nearly too much. “My God, Isobel, yer beautiful.”

Her blood thundered at his words. “Leith, I want ye to…I need ye….”             

He made a low, masculine sound in his throat.

Gently, he pushed her legs apart and took his fill of looking at her sleek wetness, plunging his fingers deep inside her, stroking her. Then his hands were at her hips and the velvety tip of him probed her flesh.

“It will hurt at first but then it will be only pleasure.”

She writhed beneath him. “Dunna draw it out. I need ye inside me….”

Her hot, innocent, primal insistence was more than he could take. His mouth twisted as he studied her exquisite, delicate features and prepared to enter her. “Whate’er is between us, ‘tis powerful. I canna hold back, Isobel….”

Isobel knew nothing but the hungry heat that raged between them. His hand traced her flesh lovingly, from her breasts to her stomach to the scars on her hips. Her fingers dug into the steel hardness of his arms, trying to prepare…

His sculpted shoulders moved above her and candlelight flickered over his smooth skin. He lowered himself over her. Suddenly he thrust hard inside her.

She cried out; for a moment, all was hot, stinging pain. But then he began to move slowly inside her, whispering in her ear, caressing her swollen breasts, suckling her nipples and the pain was soon forgotten as a tidal wave of heat began to build within her.

She was trembling but soon meeting his thrusts with wild abandon.

His lips crushed hers and all thought was lost to their mutual, driving need.

He swept her away with bold, torrid, commanding strokes.

She cried out and began to pulse around him. Her body felt stretched to the limit to accommodate his size and hardness, and yet she spread her legs further apart, wanting him to go deeper, all the way down to places no man had ever touched.