Tempted by the Highland Warrior (9 page)

Confused, he stepped back and handed it to her. Marguerite took
the knife and used it to tear out the stitches that held her sleeves in place.
‘I didn’t bring scissors, as I sometimes do. But now we can remove it.’

When he hesitated, she raised her arms. ‘Go on,’ she whispered.
‘But leave my chemise.’

He knelt at her feet, gathering the hem of the gown. As he
raised it high, his hands grazed her waist and over the curve of her breasts.
The linen chemise was soft, barely covering her flesh, and he gritted his teeth
against the urges rising within him. When she was free of the garment, he
couldn’t stop the urge to touch her. While his hands encircled her waist,
resting below her breasts, he brought his mouth to the silver chain resting upon
her nape. His lips edged the chain, and he drew it out with his fingers, moving
the pendant beneath the chemise to nestle against her bare breasts.

A sigh escaped Marguerite and it was all he could do not to
drag her to him, stripping away the last barrier between them. His mind
tormented him with visions of claiming her, using his mouth and tongue to awaken
her passion.

She turned to face him, her body shielded by the linen. With
her palms upon his chest, his heartbeat quickened. ‘Teach me to swim,
Callum.’

* * *

She was playing a dangerous game. Marguerite saw the
emotions race across Callum’s face and worried that she’d gone too far. Perhaps
he’d brought her here to enjoy time together in a beautiful place and she had
dared to reveal more of herself by shedding the outer gowns. Her bare arms
attracted his notice, although her chemise covered her body.

He took her hand and led her into the water. It was cold, but
not unbearably so. With every step, the water grew deeper. Past her calves, to
her thighs, and finally her waist. Her chemise moved within the water and though
Callum continued to walk at her side, she could feel the strain in his
demeanour.

He looked like a man who was fighting against himself but the
darkness in his eyes tempted her instead of making her fear him. Already he’d
given her a glimpse of the physical heat that was hers for the taking. His kiss
had been savage, unrelenting. And he tempted her in a way that no man ever
had.

Her hands grew wet, but he didn’t let go. And once the water
covered her breasts, she gasped at the sudden drop in temperature.

‘This is far enough.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, for
her breasts puckered within her chemise. Against the thin linen, she worried he
might see too much.

You could have refused to swim
, she
reminded herself.
This was your doing.

Callum drew her to face him and she saw the water lapping his
muscled chest. The fierce desire to touch this man, to be consumed by him, was
rising within her. No longer did it seem that they were worlds apart. There was
only this moment between them and the unnamed feelings.

He reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms.
His hands rested against the back of her knees and a violent shiver came over
her. When he laid her back in the water, she was barely aware of him
straightening her limbs. His dark eyes held her captive as his hands rested
beneath her spine.

She was floating on the water, not understanding how. Her
chemise was soaked and clung to her body. No doubt he could see the darker
nipples beneath the linen and he made no effort to hide his gaze. His eyes
passed over her, like a man who couldn’t stop himself. He adjusted his grip to
hold her with one arm, while the other traced the curve of her cheek, moving
down her throat. The contrast between the heat of his hands and the freezing
water held her locked in place.

Every part of her wanted him to go further, to move his hands
over her aching breasts, to touch her where no man ever had.

The ripples of water held her suspended and she fought the urge
to hold on to Callum’s arms. Slowly, he moved to stand behind her, until he
dropped his hands away. She was floating with nothing to hold her above the
water. Panic filled her and she tried to sit up, flailing in the water until he
caught her, guiding her torso back to the surface. Once again, he straightened
her body, adjusting her position until her hands were outstretched, her legs
straight.

He held the back of her head, standing behind her once more.
His arms rested beneath her shoulders and she was intensely aware of his moulded
strength. He was an archer, a man who could command the bow and send an arrow
flying with one pull on the taut string. Those same strong arms held her gently
but with the quiet reassurance of a powerful stature.

Marguerite lifted her eyes to his. From her position, he
appeared upside down. His steady gaze reminded her that he wasn’t going to let
anything happen to her.
I’ll keep you safe
, his eyes
seemed to say.

She watched him, wanting more than his hands upon the back of
her head. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.

* * *

Instead of bringing her back up to stand before him,
Callum bent down to her lips. From the upside-down position, her mouth
tantalised him, her cool lips surrendering. Whether she knew it or not, her plea
fired the desires he’d tried to hold back. At the sight of her slender body,
revealed to him through the thin white linen, it was a good thing he was
standing in cold water. The curve and dusky tint of her breasts aroused him like
hot oil upon fire.

He kissed her gently, then slid his tongue across the opening
of her mouth.

Marguerite couldn’t stop her intake of breath, and when her
mouth parted, he invaded her with his tongue. The sensation turned her soft in
his arms, her hands reaching for him. He held her in the water, and the kiss
became the prelude of every way he wanted to know her.

Her tongue slid against his in a caress, and he took her
deeper, letting the kiss turn hotter. He burned for her, body and soul. The
water lapped against her skin the way he wanted to touch every inch of her. She
reached up to his neck, holding on for balance while her eyes closed.

I want to be on top of you, your skin
beneath mine.

His hands came under her knees, catching her before she could
slide under. Against her breasts, the wet fabric of her chemise clung to her
nipples, making them tight and hard. He imagined moving his mouth down to taste
her, swirling his tongue on her until she moaned with need.

She held on to him, turning in the water with her arms around
his neck. The water was too deep for her to stand, so she moved her body against
his, her cool skin pressing upon him. Instinct made him want to lift her hips,
wrapping her slender legs around his waist until he could penetrate her in one
stroke.

She was watching him with sudden awareness, her mouth softening
as she studied him. ‘Callum?’ she whispered. It was both a question and a
plea.

He couldn’t. Not now, not when she didn’t know what she asked
of him.

Instead, he strode back into shallow water, bringing her back
until she stood waist-high in the depths. He broke from the kiss and dove away
from her, his body slicing through the water in smooth strokes.

The physical exertion was what he needed right now, the driving
need to punish himself. She was innocent and didn’t understand what he wanted
from her.

His arms broke through the water, swimming hard as if to run
away from the man he was.

You’re unworthy
, the voice taunted.
She’s far too good for you.

He swam endless laps, the water so cold it numbed him from
inside. When at last he returned to her, Marguerite stood upon the shore,
shivering. On her face, he saw worry.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ she called out.

He strode through the water, heedless of the droplets rolling
down him. No, this was his fault. His feet sank into the sand as he walked
closer.

She didn’t understand the effect she had upon him, but he
wanted to reassure her that he’d regained his grip on sanity. When he stood
before her, he reached out to a wet lock of her hair and smoothed it over one
ear. He let his eyes speak for him, while his palm rested against her cheek.

It’s not your fault. Never
yours.

She watched him, her blue eyes worried, but her hand reached up
to cover his. ‘I know it’s cold,’ she murmured, ‘but will you take me back into
the water? Just for a little while?’

Callum eyed her and acquiesced, though he was freezing. He
strode into the loch and led her with him. When Marguerite reached the deeper
water, he moved her to her stomach. His arms balanced beneath her breasts and
legs, lifting her to the top of the water.

‘Don’t let me fall,’ she warned.

He shook his head and she tilted her head to look at him. The
feeling of her slender body in his arms was a gift and he tightened his hold to
reassure her.

Never.

Callum adjusted the position of her body, holding her with one
arm while he showed her how to move her arms. Marguerite tried to swim as he
had, but didn’t know how to kick her legs.

He reached out to her thighs, opening them slightly as he
guided one leg up and down in a fluttering motion. Her skin was cool and firm in
his hands. But when he reached to guide her other leg, her face went down into
the water. Instantly, he lifted her up and she coughed, holding him tight as she
stood up.

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I should have been moving my
arms, but when my face went under, I was too frightened.’

He smoothed back the hair that had escaped from her braid, his
hands upon her cheeks.
Don’t be afraid.

Her answer was to cling to him, resting her cheek against his
chest. He embraced her and the ache inside him spread deeper.

‘I don’t know what’s happening between us,’ she whispered. ‘And
I know I shouldn’t come to you when I’m betrothed to someone else. But I had
to.’

In her voice, he heard the traces of guilt, as if she knew she
was betraying her family. He rested his forehead against hers, while both of
them shivered.

Nothing mattered any more. Not his clan, far away to the
Northeast. Not the stranger she was supposed to marry. Only this moment.

‘Could you build a fire?’ she asked. He nodded and led her out
of the water to sit upon the large boulder. He gathered wood to make a fire,
steeling himself against the bitter wind. Marguerite was shivering hard, but he
built up the tinder and struck flint until he had a small blaze going. Once he
beckoned to her, she huddled as close to it as she dared.

‘Swimming was harder than I thought it would be,’ she admitted,
resting her chin upon her knees. ‘But thank you for trying to teach me.’

For a time, she simply sat with him and it didn’t matter that
neither of them spoke. The quiet time together felt right. When she sent him a
glance, she flushed, as if remembering the kiss they’d shared. She took her hair
over one shoulder, wringing out the water, fingercombing it to dry.

The motion caught his attention and the longing to keep her
with him, to see her in intimate moments like these, was all-encompassing.

His hands dug into the damp sand when she knelt, peeling the
wet chemise away from her skin while trying to dry it.

He picked up a fallen stick, intending to toss it into the
fire, but he traced it through the dirt, still watching over her. Marguerite
frowned, then she studied him with interest.

‘Do you know how to write?’

The idea hadn’t occurred to him. He shook his head, but then, a
sudden flash of inspiration gripped him. Though he couldn’t read or write,
she
could.

And if she could teach him, it would give him a way to talk to
her. The idea exploded within his mind with the fierce desire to make his
thoughts known, to break free of his silent prison.

Callum held out the stick to her, waiting in the hopes that he
was right.

His hand closed over hers and he guided the stick back down to
the dirt. Marguerite knelt and he pointed to her, then to the ground.

Teach me what you know.

She began to write curved markings, eyeing him with
uncertainty. ‘It’s my name,’ she said. ‘Marguerite.’

Callum caught her hand and took the stick from her. Then he
pressed her hand upon his and struggled to trace over the letters she’d printed.
He couldn’t quite duplicate the lines, but it was close.

‘You want me to teach you how?’ she murmured.

Yes.
She couldn’t know how hungry
he was for words, for a way to express the thoughts inside him. If she could
teach him anything at all, it would be a gift beyond price.

‘Few men can read,’ she warned him. ‘And it takes many years to
learn to write. It’s not just the letters.’

He shook his head and forced her hand atop his.
I need to learn.
He struggled to write her name again,
though one of the curving letters that dropped lower eluded him.

‘In which language?’

An unexpected laugh broke forth from him. Though he supposed
she was serious, he hardly cared at all. Any language was better than the
endless silence. Callum pointed to her and then to himself.

‘Both?’

He nodded and took the stick back. She adjusted his fingers to
help him with the grip. ‘I can try. But it takes time. More time than we
have.’

He didn’t care how long it took. He would practise until his
fingers bled, if he had to.

But there was a shadow in her mood. ‘They watch me, Callum. I
may not always be allowed to come and see you.’

He drew her up to stand before him, cupping her face in his
hands. She covered his fingers with her own, but didn’t pull back. Instead, she
closed her eyes and he rested his forehead upon hers.

‘I’ll do what I can to help you,’ she promised.