Read The Highlander's Sin Online
Authors: Eliza Knight
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #British & Irish, #Historical, #Genre Fiction, #Romance, #Medieval, #Scottish, #Historical Fiction, #Historical Romance, #Fiction
When he was greeted with silence
and no one came out to investigate his presence, he peered around the corner. Darkness filled the cave. Thank the saints, it was empty.
A deep sigh of relief escaped him. He gripped Blade’s bridle an
d tugged the horse and his charge into the cave. Instantly, the roar of the storm dulled, almost as though they’d stepped into a different realm. The sounds of the rain and wind were calming now that the storm no longer assaulted their bodies.
Duncan held out his arms to Heather, who barely seemed to notice him
. She practically fell on to him as she slid from the saddle. He wrapped his arms around her and carried her over to the side of the cave. Duncan settled her against a wall and knelt in front of her.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Even in the dim light, he could see how pale she was. Hair a mess, it stuck to her cheeks and neck. Water dripped in rivulets over her forehead, nose, chin. She rolled her gaze toward his and nodded.
But the glassy of her eyes said otherwise.
Duncan frowned, patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and then stood. He took all the satchels off his mount and then removed the saddle and bridle, sure to give Blade an apple before he went about anything else. The horse had done a great duty bringing them here, suffering more than the both of them in the process.
“As long as no heathens came and took my supply, I’ve got a stack of wood in the back of the cave.
I’ll light a fire to warm ye up.”
Heather grunted.
Duncan pulled the jug of whisky from one of the satchels and handed it to her. “Drink a few sips of this while I gather the wood.” He forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood and his fear. “Try not to spit it out this time.”
Heather
barely cracked a smile as she held up a limp, cold hand, grabbing the jug from him and letting it fall heavily into her lap without taking a sip.
“Do ye need me to hold it to your lips?”
“Nay,” she croaked.
Duncan watched until she’d uncorked
the jug and took a healthy sip, eyes closed as she did. But she let it fall a little too easily back to her lap, making him nervous she’d spill it all over herself. He re-corked it and gave her a once-over. Pale. Blue lips. Glassy eyes. Soaking wet. Shivering.
The lass was bound to be ill
with fever inside the next hour if he didn’t get her warmed up and dry soon.
He slid his hands along the familiar walls of the cave until he reached the far back left corner, where he’d spent nearly an entire day carving a nook in the wall to store wood that would be easily concealed from any outsiders seeking shelter. His fingertips hit wood. Blessed be.
Appeared only a couple of pieces of wood had been removed. Whoever had shared this shelter with him had been kind enough to re-stock it.
Filling his arms with several logs and kindling, he carried them back to the center of the cave. He stacked the wood in a crisscross pattern and then pulled a flint from his pouch. It only took four sparks to light the kindling. A warm blaze took root, and instant heat reached his fingertips.
“Come here, lass.”
Heather remained seated.
Her eyes were closed.
Duncan trudged toward her, lifted her into his arms, feeling the length o
f her slight form against his. She opened her eyes, staring lifelessly up at him.
“Ye need to get warm,” he said.
Heather nodded, and he carried her to the fire, setting her down before it. Her eyes fixed on the jumping orange and yellow flames.
“Feels nice, does it not?”
She nodded and held her shaking hands near the heat. Even her fingertips had gone blue.
Despite the warmth of the fire, they were not going to get dry quickly by sitting in front of it. Nor would her body heat be restored.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask ye to remove the only gown ye’ve got left and any undergarments ye’re wearing.” He hated saying the words.
How lecherous they sounded in his own ears.
Heather glance
d up at him, and even in her haze, he could see a flash of fury in her eyes.
“Not in this lifetime, Priest.”
Chapter Twelve
R
emove her clothes?
Heather was already freezing. It took all her effort not to let her teeth chatter. Her skin was covered in gooseflesh, and her fingers trembled, her toes numb, knees knocking as soon as she stopped concentrating on keeping them pressed firmly together. Keeping her legs bent toward her chest seemed to hold in whatever warmth she had. Taking off the only garments she had was hardly her idea of getting warm. She stuck her hands farther toward the blaze, then yanked them back as one of her fingers felt the singe of heat a bit too closely.
“My lady, I swear upon it, I am not trying anything untoward. We need to lay your clothes flat so that they dry, and right now, sopping wet as they are, they are bound to make ye sick.” Duncan’s voice was calm, full of reason.
She glanced away from him. Looking at him made her want to believe that what he spoke was true, but she knew it couldn’t be. All the
my ladies
in the world wouldn’t change her mind. No man had ever seen her naked—save her brothers and father when she had been a wee bairn. Only her maids had seen her nude as a full-grown woman. Father Duncan was not going to be the first grown male to see her without clothes. That privilege was saved for her husband—of which she had none and no plans for in the future.
“Nay,” she said, pleased that her voice came out strong, no matter how weak she felt at the moment.
“Heather.”
The sound of her name spoken from his lips jolted her, and she jerked her gaze back to his.
“Duncan.”
“Dinna mock me, lass. I’m deadly serious.”
“And so am I. Ye’ll have to wrestle me to the ground
and rip the clothes from my
cold,
limp body.”
“Dinna make me do it.”
A chill swept through her—not from the cold. His gaze was stern and gave her no doubt that he would indeed lay her flat and rip the fabric from her body like he’d done in the water.
“Please, Priest. Dinna make me take off my clothes.” Her lower lip trembled. She was starting to break. The utter humiliation of being abducted, almost dying and now getting nude… Heather had always thought herself strong, but in this she was suddenly sure she was a
s weak as a bairn.
Duncan turned around and rummaged through one of his satchels, pulling out one of the plaid blankets they’d used at the castle ruins.
“I’m not a monster,” he said, holding out the blanket. “’Tis dry. Now get undressed and wrap it around yourself.”
Guilt simmered, but she squashed it. She’d had every right to react the way she had. If she’d not, ’haps he wouldn’t have offered her the blanket.
“Thank ye.” She took the proffered fabric, feeling its soft warmth in her grasp. A surge of energy filled her.
Outside their cave, the storm raged on, threatening any living thing in its path—plant, animal or human form. But braving the summer tempest suddenly seemed better than dropping her clothes—the only protection she had—in front of a man. Especially this man. She was more worried about her own reaction than his. Every time he looked at her, some portion of her body fluttered and sang.
“Ye’re welc—”
Before he could finish, she dropped the blanket and bolted around him, skirting the fire, the horse, his dropped satchel. Her muscles screamed from exhaustion, but she did not give in to their protest. She had to get away from the only man who seemed able to elicit a response from her, a need to
change who she was, what she was, and what she wanted out of life. He made her see life differently, and she wasn’t about to give up on her dreams of helping her country. Not for all the good, warm rush of feelings in the world.
Surprise registered on Duncan’s face, and he lunged toward her, grabbing onto the fabric of her sleeve. Heather didn’t stop, didn’t care when she heard the wrenching sound of fabric tearing.
Her last gown.
She kept running. The dull roar of the storm turned on full force as she ducked out of the cave and was immediately pelted by rain, blasts of wind whipping her hair painfully into her face.
“Stop!” she heard Duncan call faintly.
She was sure he’d bellowed it, but the storm deadened the sound. The last thing she was going to do was stop. Hands out in front of her, she pushed past the gorse bushes and slipped in the mud, falling to her hands and knees on the soggy ground. She scrambled to her feet, muck-covered hands gripping tight to her skirts.
Not familiar with the area, Heather had to guess which way the road would be. And even when she reached it, there was no telling if she should go right or left.
Dinna let such thoughts slow ye down,
she cautioned herself. Picking up speed was difficult as the rain turned stable ground into mudslides.
And then,
Duncan caught her around the waist, tumbling them both to the ground. She fought against him, rolling back and forth, kicking, hitting. But all she succeeded in doing was getting them both thoroughly covered in mud. Duncan managed to get hold of her wrists, pinning them to the ground above her head. His huge body straddled hers, thighs pinning hers together.
“Get off of me,” she said, her voice weak from screaming.
Fury showed on Duncan’s face and laced his words. “Are ye daft? Will ye get us both killed?”
“Nay
,” she whimpered. “I simply want to be away from ye.”
“
Every wolf in the area has heard your mewling death cries and will be coming in for the kill. And should any outlaws have heard your screams, they’ll be racing toward the sound to catch a bit of what ye have left over to offer.”
Heather refused to let his words frighten her, though her heart did cinch at the thought of being eaten alive by animal or man. Instead
, she focused on something positive. “And should anyone be looking for me, I’ve just alerted them to my whereabouts.”
“Ye’re so proud of yourself.”
A fierce frown marred his brow.
“Aye,” she said smugly.
He leaned down close, his nose touching hers. “And yet, here we are, and I’ve got ye at my mercy.”
A realization she’d been trying to avoid. “Will ye ravish me like the outlaws
would?”
Oh, God, why did the thought send tingles racing along her skin? Suddenly, her thighs felt the pressure of his, her hips felt the weight of his body, and she had to threaten them to remain rooted in place,
not fall open, searching for his heat, the way she wanted. Her chest heaved as her breath quickened.
“’Haps ye’d like that,” Duncan said. He moved a knee from the side of her and pressed it between her thighs, gently pushing her legs apart.
And her shameful thighs complied.
Duncan slid his body between her l
egs, and a hot rush of need flared from the juncture of her thighs. For all she was aware, the raging storm could have subsided.
“’Haps I’d like it, too,” he murmured, leaning close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. He flicked out his tongue, tracing the shell o
f her ear. At the same time, he rolled his hips against hers.
White heat shot from that wanton spot on her body. Something hard, something long, rubbed tantalizingly at the most secret part of her.
“Get off me,” she said meekly, too meekly. She shoved feebly at his shoulders.
Duncan only rubbed his body harder against her. He moved both of her pinned wrists to one hand, and with the other gripped her hip and
massaged. Of its own accord, her knee bent, came up around his hip, tucking him closer to the sensitive parts of her that he’d forced awake.
“Do ye truly want me to
stop?” he asked.
Lifting his mouth from her ear
, he locked his gaze with hers. Mud streaked over his nose and forehead. He looked endearingly charming and dangerous all at once.
A weighty question
. Did she truly want him to—nay, nay she didn’t. But was it necessary? Aye. Most definitely aye.
“Please, help me up.” She shivered, mostly because she’d shifted and that hard part of him stroked over her, but also from fear and the chill of being completely soaked by pelting rain.
In a swift, purely masculine move, he leapt to his feet and held out his hand to her. “I’d never hurt ye, lass,” he said.
Heather ignored his hand and tried to push herself up to standing, but her limbs were weak and sore from her
swim
and trying to run away and from having lain in the muck, ready to shed her clothes and offer herself up to him. Before she could ask, Duncan was beside her, his hand on her elbow, infinite warmth shooting from the spot. He drew her to her feet. But he didn’t stop there. With one behind her back and another sliding beneath her knees, he lifted her up, holding her tightly against him.
He jogged back to the cave with her in his arms, as though she weighed no more than his jug of
whisky. By the time they’d gotten inside, most of the mud had been washed away from their skin, though her gown, so light in color, was thoroughly ruined.
Duncan set her on her feet and gave her
a stern look as he handed her the blanket she’d discarded before. “Now ye need to get undressed.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I will give ye to the count of three before I start unlacing ye myself.”
Heather glared at him, weighing her options. She could make a run for it again, but he was only likely to catch her once more.
It’d been stupid to run the first time, downright witless to do so the second. Gritting her teeth, she stomped a foot and turned her back to him, trying desperately to reach for the gown’s ties.
“Do ye need me to help ye untie
it?”
“Nay,” she spat, but it was evident in the few minutes she tried to do so herself that her fingers would not cooperate. “Aye.”
Duncan didn’t say a word, didn’t mock her for dismissing him and then pulling him back. He simply untied the dress and waited to see if she wanted any more help. Again, she was struck by the realization that beneath his harsh exterior shell, the man was true and genuine. She supposed he would have had to be as a priest. Precisely why she should not let him kiss her and make other scandalous advances—even if they felt amazing.
Keeping her back to Duncan, Heather slid the gown off of one shoulder and then the other, peeling it down her arms and then dropping the heavy, soaked garment at her feet. He drew in a sharp breath, and she whipped around, covering herself, though she was still essentially clothed in three chemises. But they were wet, and just as his leine shirt had been sheer, she was sure her chemises were, too, despite the multiple layers.
His eyes darkened as their gazes locked. His mouth was pressed into a firm line, a haunted stripe of lips, as if he couldn’t make up his mind how to react. Heather felt the familiar chills of heat centering in her sensitive parts. The way she’d felt when he’d kissed her, touched her thigh. Why was she having them now when he looked at her?
“Turn around,” she ordered him, though it came out more like a plea. She licked her lips, wishing it were he touching her in such an intimate way.
Duncan slowly turned. The heels of his boots echoed in the cave as he shifted his feet until his back was all she saw. For a split second, she wished he was back in that wet shirt, so she could examine his body the way she wanted to, without him being wise to it.
“Hurry, lass.”
Why did he want her to hurry? Was he also curious? Did he feel the sparks of heat that seemed to be taking over her entire being?
Heather tugged at the ribbons of all three chemises at her throat and, as one, peeled them down her body, stepping out of the white pool of fabric.
She stood upright, shivering all the more—and she wasn’t sure if it was from cold, because the fire had surely heated their little cave, or because a few feet away stood a man she found entirely too enticing and she wore nothing but her skin.
Her nipples hardened, pink, upturned buds, almost like they reached out for him, wanting him to… What? Touch them? God, what would it be like for him to…kiss them?
Heather coughed, choking on her own breath. Duncan leapt around. Heather screamed, flung an arm across her naked breasts and moved her other hand down to cover the curls nestled between her thighs.