Tempted by the Highland Warrior (13 page)

The words revealed the truth he’d suspected. Despite what there
was between them, she was still her father’s daughter. Her loyalty to her family
was stronger than any feelings she held towards him.

It was sobering to know that he was asking her to choose
between them.

But then she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were soft and
in the touch of her mouth upon his there was a decision. She’d found a way to
come to him, and no matter how long it lasted, he intended to make the most of
it.

A breathless sigh escaped her when he bent to kiss her jaw and
the delicate skin of her throat.

‘I want this day with you,’ she demanded. ‘A few hours with no
one to stop us. No one to tell me what sort of man I should wed.’ She stared
hard at him and a dark blush covered her cheeks. ‘I want to feel the way you
made me feel a few days ago when you touched me.’

She was playing with the fire of his lust and God only knew
where it would end. Callum stared at her, letting her see how badly he wanted
her. Taking his hands, she brought them to the back of her gown.

‘Help me take this off,’ she murmured. After he loosened the
laces, she raised her arms. As he removed each layer, he saw the gooseflesh
cover her skin.

When she was in her chemise, he paused, not knowing how far she
wanted to go. ‘Leave it for now,’ she answered. ‘Teach me to swim, and then…’
Her words trailed off, her shyness overcoming her.

He wasn’t about to let his mind ponder what she meant by those
words. Instead, he removed his tunic and took her into the water. The waves
moved against her, and she clung to him for balance.

‘It’s c-c-colder than the lake, isn’t it?’

When they reached a depth that was just above her waist, he
lifted her up, stretching her on her stomach. She struggled against the waves,
but tried again to swim. With her hair dipping below the water, she fought,
churning her arms and kicking her legs. He released her without warning and, as
she continued to move, she suspended herself in the water. It wasn’t smooth or
particularly strong, but she did manage to swim.

‘Look!’ she cried out to him. ‘I’m not sinking.’

He gave a slight smile, moving into a different position that
forced her to swim to him. When at last he stopped, she moved her arms and
kicked until she caught his waist and stood up. ‘It wasn’t so bad this time. At
least I remembered to move my arms and legs.’ Her teeth chattered, but he warmed
her in his embrace. A breathless smile lit up her face, as her arms came around
him.

She was shivering and when he pointed to the water, asking if
she wanted to swim again, she shook her head.

‘I want you to help me get warm,’ she whispered.

Her body pressed against him and he wondered if she knew what
she was asking. The waves sloshed them, but he guided her out of the water. Sand
caked their legs and she shivered, holding on to him.

Callum led her back to the fire to get warm, adding more
driftwood to increase the heat. He took her discarded cloak and spread it out
before the fire, gesturing for her to sit upon it. Marguerite ignored him,
standing before the flames with her hands outstretched. Her expression had gone
distant, as if she were lost in thought.

She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes. In that
moment, he saw the uncertainty in her face, mingled with fear. He met her gaze
with unyielding strength. No matter what happened, he would remain at her side.
She was the woman who had risked everything to save his life, the woman who had
brought him back from the brink of madness. The woman he would die for.

And then she stared straight at him, her hands lifting her
chemise away until she stood naked before him, wearing nothing except the glass
pendant.

Chapter Nine

M
arguerite could feel the hunger in his
eyes, the desire for her. A thousand voices were crying out within her head,
warning her not to do this. She was promised to another man and she had no right
to betray her intended husband.

But the idea of letting a stranger claim her virginity felt so
wrong. Callum was the man who held her heart and she wanted to be with him. If
her new husband learned she was not a virgin, he might cast her out. Or refuse
to marry her, if she revealed it.

It was a way out of the betrothal.

The idea of surrendering to Callum, letting him become her
lover, was a dangerous move, one that could destroy both of them. But if her
efforts failed and she could not avoid the marriage to the earl, at least she
could give this part of herself to Callum. He would never hurt her and it was
something they could share together.

‘You should remove the rest of your clothes,’ she murmured.
‘Let them dry by the fire.’

He moved before her, and she saw his eyes lingering upon her
bare skin, drinking in the sight. Though she felt awkward revealing everything
to him, she made no move to cover herself. She watched as Callum removed his own
clothing. When he stood naked before her, she was struck by the power of his
body, the fierce lines of heavy muscle and skin. As an archer, his arms were
lean and strong. She ached to touch him, to discover how to bring him the same
pleasure he’d given her.

Callum hadn’t made any attempt to come near her and she
realised he was waiting for her to grant permission. She took his palms and laid
them upon her breasts. His hands filled up with her, cupping the smooth weight
of them. The warmth of his touch sent another shiver through her. His thumbs
moved across her nipples and they hardened beneath the caress.

She hardly felt the cool air of the wind, transfixed by him.
His dark hair fell over his shoulders, down his back. There was nothing tame
about him; he was like a wild creature who wanted to possess her.

Marguerite rested her hands upon his chest muscles, exploring
the hard flesh, watching the way his face transformed. He did the same to her,
fingering her erect nipples and stroking her breasts. Then he lowered her to the
cloak, resting upon his side as he made her comfortable.

His eyes turned dark, wicked, as he took her hands and lifted
them above her head. He locked them in place, while he bent his mouth to taste
the bud of her nipple. A surge of need echoed between her legs, causing moisture
at her intimate place. She felt the hard length of him against her thigh and
wondered what it would be like to take him inside her.

He released her wet nipples and took the glass pendant, rubbing
the smooth shape upon her erect tips. The sensation was foreign and he used it,
along with his tongue, to torment her further.

His mouth and tongue suckled hard, drawing a deep response
inside her. Marguerite reached for his shaft, curling her fingers around his
length. His breathing quickened and he lifted his mouth from her breast,
watching her as she explored his manhood. He covered her hand, showing her how
to move against him in a rhythm.

If it was possible, he grew larger in her hand, and she saw the
fierce pleasure transforming his face. Abruptly, he pulled away from her and she
felt the cool breeze of the wind upon her skin. His mouth moved down to her
thighs, above the sand, tasting and teasing her. With his fingers, he touched
the intimate slit between her legs. She trembled when he slid a finger inside
her, lazily stroking the wetness.

His mouth was moving everywhere, over her thighs, making her
feel so vulnerable. She was arching, trembling as the need for him overtook her.
He sat up, guiding her to straddle him. With his mouth, he kissed her hard,
rubbing her against his heavy, thick shaft.

Marguerite reached down to the blunt head of him and moved it
against her slick opening. She wanted to feel him deep inside, to be taken and
conquered by this man.

His face was taut with need, his hands gripping her hips as she
lowered herself. It was too tight to take him and she let him rest only a
fraction inside of her. But when he lifted her up, lowering her again, he moved
deeper.

She understood, then, what she had to do. Slowly, she raised
her hips and sheathed him a little further. She found a slow rhythm and her body
seemed to adjust to his size, stretching and growing wetter with each
penetration.

But then his hands curled beneath her bottom, forcing her to
increase her pace. Though he didn’t pull her down, she found herself growing
more excited, her body straining for more. Her breathing came in rapid gasps as
she moved upon him, the thrusting length of him filling her up.

And though she felt tight as he invaded, he dulled it when he
sat up and took her breast into his mouth. With his tongue, he tasted her
nipple, holding still as she grew accustomed to him buried within her. Gently,
she raised up again, experimenting with the sensation as his tongue gloried
against her breasts.

He gripped her lower back, his hand moving between their
joining. She felt his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh above her entrance
and a ripple of shock flooded through her. A moan escaped her and he pulled his
hand away.

‘No, don’t stop,’ she whispered. He returned his fingers to her
hooded flesh, and she showed him where to touch, until she was shaking from the
way he rubbed her. He was thick and hard inside of her, but he remained
motionless.

The double pressure of his manhood and the movement of his
fingers made her raise her hips back, seeking the rush she wanted.

‘It feels good,’ she admitted, and Callum never relented,
keeping up the rhythmic pressure of his hand until she bucked against him,
thrusting in counterpoint to his tantalising strokes.

The heat built up inside her, a shimmering crest of pleasure,
until she shattered against his hand, clenching him deep inside. He grabbed her
hips and thrust hard, forcing her to ride him, the intensity of her climax
convulsing her again and again.

He laid her back on to the cloak, still moving in slow
penetrations, and she lifted her knees to take him deeper. He was merciless,
demanding that she give every part of herself to him. And when he plunged
against her, taking his own release, he groaned and continued to drive deeply
inside her while she clung to him, lost in her own storm.

When he rested against her, upon her skin, she heard a single
whispered word, ‘Marguerite.’

* * *

‘You spoke,’ she breathed. ‘Callum…you said my
name.’

He wasn’t aware of anything, only the immense satisfaction of
his body joined with hers. Had he said anything at all? He tried to make his
mouth move, to let out her name again…but nothing happened. Again, he struggled
to bring out the words, but the invisible wall prevented him.

‘You spoke. I know you did.’ Her bare arms came around his
neck, holding him in a tight embrace. A smile came over her and she drew her
hands up to clasp his hair. ‘I want to hear it again.’

He struggled to form the word, but the longer she watched him,
the more awkward he felt. If what she said was true, he’d spoken without
thinking. Without trying.

He withdrew from her body, angry at himself for being unable to
fulfil such a simple request. Picking up her chemise, he started to bring it to
her, when he spied the sail of a ship approaching on the horizon. From the speed
of the wind, it would be here within half an hour, and the occupants might see
him and Marguerite before then.

Callum tossed the chemise to Marguerite and heaped sand upon
the fire, extinguishing it. He donned his own clothing, but she looked worried
at the sudden change of his mood. ‘I don’t understand. What’s wrong?’

He pointed out at the approaching ship and her expression
paled. ‘That could be my father.’ Fumbling with the linen chemise, she hurried
to dress herself. Callum helped her with the cote and surcoat, handing her the
veil to cover her wet hair. Marguerite had barely put her shoes on before he
pulled her into a run to the waiting horses. He gathered the reins of her mare,
helping her to mount.

She started to wait on him, but he slapped the horse’s flanks,
urging the animal to go on. There was no time to delay. He could shadow her from
a distance, but she had to return to the castle quickly.

If it was the Duc arriving, she needed to be safely back in her
chamber before anyone discovered her gone. He didn’t know if she’d succeed, for
there was so little time.

Callum urged his horse into a gallop, keeping several paces
behind her. As he rode, he thought of the husband the Duc was planning to bring
back for Marguerite. A cold rage drowned out reason, replacing it with jealousy.
If he’d had an estate and a title, he could gain Marguerite’s hand in marriage.
He could be the one to claim her as his wife, the way he’d taken her body just
now.

Making love to her had been the most priceless gift she could
have given him. The idea of her sharing that experience with someone else, of
letting another man take her, was akin to driving a spear through his chest.

He couldn’t let her go. All he could do was pray she would make
the decision to walk away from this life and leave with him.

* * *

Marguerite gave her horse over to Jean when she reached
the stables. Her guards eyed her mussed hair and dishevelled clothing, but said
nothing. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she felt as if everyone knew what
she had been doing.

When Callum rode in behind her, he disappeared into the
stables, presumably to care for the horses. She didn’t know what he’d thought of
her actions but inside, her body was still trembling from the fierce reaction
he’d evoked.

Lady Beatrice glared at her, but Marguerite passed by the woman
and spoke not a word. She went straight to her chamber and ordered a bath.
Though she’d believed that her father would travel on land, the ship she’d seen
was large enough to carry his entourage and horses. It was entirely possible
that they had returned early, especially travelling by sea instead of on
horseback.

As her maids helped her to bathe and dress during the next
hour, she thought of how Callum had spoken his first word in so many years. Of
all the words he could have said, he’d chosen her name.

Her heart softened at the memory, for there was no other man
she could imagine sharing her life with. Yet, she was deeply afraid of defying
her father. Never in a thousand years would the Duc understand why she would
want to cast off the wealth she was surrounded by, in order to wed a Scottish
warrior.

Callum was the man who made her blood race, who’d given her a
forbidden taste of passion. The man she loved.

Marguerite touched the glass pendant and held it as she
finished bathing. Her maids said nothing as they helped her don a clean blue
gown and surcoat. Around her hips, she wore a slender golden girdle set with
sapphires. They braided her wet hair and hid it beneath a veil.

Outside, she heard the commotion and the sound of horses
approaching.

‘The Duc!’ one of the soldiers shouted, and a cheer resounded
among the men as they gathered to greet him.

So. He’d returned early. Marguerite forced herself to go below
stairs, her heart pounding. She feared that he would recognise the guilt in her
face, or worse, that someone might tell him where she’d gone.

With each step, her skin grew colder, until she stood at the
entrance to greet him. Callum emerged from the stables and when the men arrived,
he took their horses. Not once did he look at her, his face devoid of any
expression. It was to protect both of them, she knew, but it bothered her more
than it should.

Her stomach plummeted when her father approached, though she
forced a smile upon her face. The Duc rode alongside another man, whose height
equalled his own. The man, whom she suspected was the Earl of Penrith, had fair
hair like her own and he offered her a slight smile of welcome. He was
impeccably dressed in a midnight-blue silk doublet, with dun-colored chausses
and a dark cape. A jewelled sword hung at his side and Marguerite idly wondered
if he knew how to use it.

Her father had chosen a man whom most women would consider
handsome and strong. She ought to be well pleased, but all she wanted to do
right now was weep.

Do not betray yourself
, she warned.
Behave like a duke’s daughter.

Guy de Montpierre strode forward, the man at his side.
‘Marguerite, I would like to introduce you to Peter Warrington, the Earl of
Penrith.’

She curtsied to Lord Penrith and he sent her a kind smile.
Taking her hand, he brushed a kiss upon the back of her palm. ‘I am well pleased
with this betrothal, my lady.’

He released her hand, and her insides felt as if they’d been
turned into stone. Even standing before this man felt like a betrayal to Callum.
She couldn’t find the words to speak a simple greeting, so she nodded and
stepped back.

‘We will draw up the necessary documents this evening and have
them signed and witnessed on the morrow,’ her father claimed. To her, he
directed, ‘Arrange for a meal and good wine for us.’

Marguerite murmured her agreement, wanting to leave them both.
Her mind was caught up in turmoil, and as she departed, she saw Beatrice moving
closer to the Duc. Though her father gave no greeting, Marguerite noticed the
subtle interest in his eyes. It was quite possible that Beatrice could influence
him and she had no doubt that her aunt would fill his ears with stories of her
misbehaviour.

But he could not punish her in front of the earl,
thankfully.

While Marguerite gave the orders for their meal, she noticed
Lord Penrith standing at the entrance, watching her. After she spoke to the
servants, Marguerite cast him a look, wondering if the earl was the sort of man
who would understand her wishes.