Ravished by a Highlander (33 page)

“Tristan, are you ill?”

His smile flashed, but he did not move or open his eyes. “Would ye think better of me if I was?”

What an odd thing to ask. “Of course not. Why would I?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “’Twould provide me with a suitable reason fer no’ doing something else.”

“Well, now that you bring it up, I did hear your father mention the wood needed chopping.”

“Rob’ll see to it.”

“As he sees to everything else?” she asked, with a bit of a sting in her voice.

Tristan yawned. “’Tis his duty as firstborn.”

She thought of giving him a good slap with her flowers. It might not jar his sense of responsibility, but at least he would
open his eyes and give her the courtesy of his attention. “I see,” she said softly, deciding on decorum rather than violence.
“And your duty as second born is to bed…” Her gentle admonishment came to an abrupt halt when he opened his eyes and finally
looked up at her. There was a challenge in his gaze as he pushed himself up on his elbows that she wasn’t sure she wanted
to engage. But as he waited for her to continue, something in his daring smirk changed. He knew what she was about to say.
He’d heard it a million times before and knew exactly how to reply; only today… today the accusation pierced a bit deeper.

“Forgive me,” she said contritely, looking down at her flowers. “It isn’t my place to speak to you so.”

He stared at her in silence until she turned away, ready to head back down the hill.

“Consider yerself fortunate that ye dinna’ know yer faither, lass.”

She stopped and pivoted on her heels to find him sitting up and staring now at the fortress his father had built. “How can
you say such a thing? Your father is…”

“Stubborn and unfergiving and verra hard to please if ye’re no’ exactly like him.” Tristan tore his troubled gaze away from
the castle and the thoughts that provoked him. He offered her a thin smile and shooed her away. “Off with ye now. I’ve a dream
to finish.”

He began to lie back down but Davina dropped to her knees in front of him, spilling her flowers at his feet. Dear God, she
couldn’t deny how beautiful he was when he smiled. She suspected it was almost too easy for him to have any lass he desired,
but the misery he cloaked so well wrenched at her heartstrings. He was correct. He was nothing like his father, nothing like
Rob or even Colin. He was the rogue, the prodigal son who wasted away his days sleeping in the heather or bedding other lairds’
daughters.

“You can change.”

“Aye, and fit into the MacGregor mold of pride, arrogance, and vengeance. Nae, lass,” his smile was pure seduction. “I’d much
rather make love.”

“That’s not true! I can see it in your eyes.”

“Aye, believe me, ’tis.” He laughed, and then grew serious again as his gaze swept over her features. “And it pleases me to
know that ’tis true fer Rob, as well.”

Davina glared at him and his smile deepened. “It is terrible of you to take pleasure in the fact that Rob has disappointed
your father by taking me as his wife.”

“Lass,” he said more gently, “my faither may have been angry, but he was no’ disappointed in Rob. He is no’ blind, and he
doesna’ hate yer kin the way he hates…” He stopped, catching himself and veering off from what he was about to say. “Ye’ve
been welcomed here by all, and ’tis easy to see why.”

“Who does your father hate?” Davina asked, not letting him change direction. “Is it Caitlin? I know Maggie doesn’t like her,
but—”

He laughed again, this time tossing his head back as the clouds passed and sweeping his sun-drenched hair off his shoulders.
“Caitlin is a bonnie lass to be sure, but she wants what I canna’ give her. Mayhap yer Captain Asher can. I hope he can.”

“He is not my captain.”

“Aye, so I’ve heard. Fergive me,” he repented sincerely.

“Then who?” she pressed.

He plucked a daffodil from the ground and studied it for a moment. “I prefer wild flowers to the delicate ones.”

Davina watched him, not knowing what he meant. Finally, he met her gaze. “Her name is Isobel. Isobel Fergusson. I saw her
again at the coronation. Her brother did this when I was a lad.” He pointed to the small curve in his nose where it had been
broken many years before.

Fergusson. Where had Davina heard the name before?

“Davina!” Finn’s cheerful voice coming up the hill interrupted her. “Ye should have seen it! Rob nearly cut off the chief’s
finger!”

Lord, she was glad she missed it, she thought, turning to greet her cousin. Before she did, Tristan caught her eye and puckered
his lips, motioning silently for her to keep their conversation secret.

“I almost maimed my faither to impress ye, and ye were no’ even there.”

She returned Rob’s smile as he hiked up the last few feet behind Finn to reach her. All the beauty around her paled compared
to him, and when he finally reached her and folded his long legs to sit close to her, she let her hungry gaze drink in every
inch of him. The single black curl that always escaped his queue was damp from the exertion he’d expended in the practice
field. His face was a bit flush, giving even more vivid color to his eyes. His smile faded, but not altogether when he looked
at his brother.

“What are ye doin’ up here alone with my wife?”

“Tryin’ to convince her to leave Camlochlin with me, but she’s fallen in love with Will and willna’ go.”

“She knows who is the better man between ye then?”

Davina was about to tell her husband not to be cruel, especially now that she was aware how inadequate Tristan felt, but Rob’s
eyes sparked with humor and his brother answered swiftly and with equal measure.

“Aye, she does, and after sharin’
yer
bed.”

Rob was about to reply but thought better of it and turned to Davina instead. “Now ye see why Colin hates him.”

“Speaking of Colin,” Finn said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable on his back on the other side of Tristan. “Why did
he wish to stay in England?”

“I dinna’ know,” Tristan said, plucking petals off a daffodil and dropping them into Finn’s hair without his notice. “The
lure of the king’s garrison, mayhap? The idea of his hated Covenanters lurking within the shadowy corridors of Whitehall?
One never knows what chillin’ notions go on in that lad’s head.”

Finn moved as it he was going to sit up and Tristan snapped his hand back. But the boy only shifted, settling into the heather
more deeply. Tristan smiled at Rob and Davina and set another yellow petal on Finn’s flaxen crown.

“What’s it like?” Finn asked in a groggy voice.

“What’s what like?” Tristan asked, slipping a sprig of heather into Finn’s locks next.

“England.”

“’Tis gloomy and no’ verra clean. But Whitehall Palace is grand, indeed.”

“Tell us about it,” Finn urged.

Davina listened intently to Tristan’s description of her father’s home. Was it truly possible that a structure could be built
so big as to hold a thousand rooms? When Rob slipped his fingers through hers, she offered him a brief smile, happy that he
was with her, content to do nothing more than sit here in the blossoms. But Tristan’s words held her in awe and too soon she
returned her smile to him. A statue-lined garden almost as big as Camlochlin? A private theatre? Tennis courts? What in the
world was tennis?

“The ladies there are just as splendid,” Tristan told them, his golden-brown eyes warming on her. “But ye, bonnie lady, would
outshine every one.”

When her smile deepened into a blush Rob tightened his hand around hers and vaulted to his feet, dragging her with him. “We’ll
see ye lads later.”

Davina barely had the chance to bid them farewell before Rob pulled her by the hand down the hill. She nearly lost her footing
trying to keep his pace and finally dug her heels into the ground to stop him.

“What is the matter with you?”

“Nothin’,” he said, giving her another tug.

She tugged him back and then slapped his hand when he did not stop. “Are you bothered by Tristan’s comfort with me? Because
if you are, then you are being a silly fool.”

He finally stopped and turned to look at his hand first, and then her. “Woman, ye know I dinna’ suffer such boyish flaws.”

She did her best not to smile, remembering his constant brooding scowl from their days of traveling with Edward. “Of course.
Forgive me,” she indulged. “But you will tell me why we left in such haste. I was enjoying hearing about… Oh, I see.” She
looked away, realizing finally the cause of his displeasure. “I was curious, that is all.”

His jaw danced around the right words to say. “Davina, I doubt any garden could be more bonnie than what lies before ye here.
And hell, if ’tis a tennis court ye want, I will build ye one.”

Now she did smile looking up at him. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Nae, but I—”

She moved closer to him and held her finger to his mouth, halting the remainder of his words. “I don’t desire such things.
You are my heaven on earth, Robert MacGregor.”

His sexy mouth hooked into a smile that ravished her senseless. When he cupped her face in his hands and drew her in to gently
lick his way into her mouth, she responded with a dreamy sigh. God have mercy, but the man knew what to do with his mouth,
and his tongue. The taste of his hunger seared her nerves and weakened her kneecaps. She wanted him and for an instant she
forgot where she was. Tristan’s voice, calling out to them that the rain was about to come, jarred her memory.

“Come, hurry,” she whispered against Rob’s mouth as he slowly withdrew. When he moved to kiss her yet again, unconcerned with
the blackening clouds, she giggled and sprang from his arms. “Catch me”—she smiled at him, taking a step backward down the
hill—“and I am yours until the rain ends.”

She squeaked with surprise when her ever-pragmatic husband took off after her. Whirling on her toes, she ran, picking up speed
and laughing as she went. She was about to swing open the castle doors when they opened on their own. She stopped herself
just before she collided into Callum MacGregor’s chest. Rob was close behind. She knew it because his father’s eyes settled
on her first and then on the tall man behind her.

No one spoke a word for an eternal moment, then the chief stepped aside, sweeping his bandaged hand over the threshold.

“’Tis goin’ to rain,” Rob explained, stepping past his father after Davina did.

“Aye, I can see that,” his father replied, but Davina and Rob barely heard him as they took their chase up the stairs, leaving
laughter in their wake and an unbidden smile on the mighty chief’s face.

R
ob caught her before Davina reached their chamber door. His arms closed around her, and spinning her to face him, he gave
her a short, victorious laugh that set her blood to burning.

“The clouds are heavy, my love. ’Tis goin’ to rain long and hard.”

“I hope it never stops,” she vowed, smiling breathlessly into his face.

His mouth came down hard on hers, devouring her softness, tasting her with his lips, his tongue, and his teeth. Pushing the
door open with his boot, he carried her to the bed and fell, locked in her embrace, onto the soft mattress. Labored by their
run, and by the passion that came upon them as relentlessly as the rain outside their window, they tore at each other’s clothes,
feasting on the flesh they exposed. Naked and wild for each other, Davina traced the muscles in his chest with her fingertips,
her lush, wet lips. He caught her nipple between his lips and she arched her back as a knot of sheer arousal erupted between
her legs.

He lifted his face from her heaving breasts, his eyes both dark and gleaming together. “I have wanted ye since we left our
bed this mornin’.”

She giggled, not knowing this wicked seductress who possessed her when she was alone with Rob, but liking her. “Is that why
you would not play with me today?”

“This is how I want to play with ye, wife.” His voice was like the low rumble of thunder outside as he moved up her body and
raked his mouth over the thrashing pulse at her throat.

Curling her legs around him, she writhed very deliberately beneath him, delighting in the effect she had on his body. She
loved what she did to him, this man of steel and seriousness. She tore away his control, his restraint, until the passion
that ran through his blood for her could no longer be contained.

“You are so strong and hard,” she drawled like a languid siren against his ear. The tormented groan she pulled from him as
his open mouth found hers made her want to weep with joy. Let every lady in Camlochlin swoon over a charming smile. She had
won the love of a man who shared his most intimate smiles for her alone. “I love you,” she whispered over and over, sliding
her hands up his face while he kissed her.

He broke away from their kiss and looked down into her eyes as he impaled her deeply. She responded by arching her spine to
meet his slow, moist thrust. He closed his eyes as ecstasy rocked him, a sinfully decadent smile pursing his lips and making
her wetter. She loved his weight on her and pushed up against him. He withdrew and thrust hard, his mouth descending hungrily
on her throat. His breath was hot on her skin as he ground his hips against her own, wedging himself as deep in her tight
sheath as she could take him.