The Highlander's Sin (5 page)

Heather was most certainly
not
nun material.

She closed her eyes and began begging forgiveness. Promising that from now on she’d try her best t
o be sin-free if only God would forgive her for her wicked thoughts.

Heather frowned. She was making promises she couldn’t keep.

Forcing herself to forget about the hard heat molded to her body was difficult. Heather yawned, finding herself lulled by the rocking of the horse. At least if she fell asleep, she wouldn’t have to deal with the tingling sensations that were cascading up and down her form. She could forget about it for a little while. Forget about
him.

But as she started to let herself slip into sleep, a little voice in her head warned against it. If she fell asleep
, she’d not be able to see where they were headed, nor would she be able to make contact with any Scottish rebellion warriors if they came across them. Sleep was out of the question.

Talking was the only way she knew how to keep herself awake.
And so, she prepared yet another litany of questions for the priest.

“How much did they pay ye?”

“I told ye before ’tis not about the money.”

“I heard ye when ye said it, but no man risks his life for free.
Everyone has their price.”

“Revenge.”
The word came out a harsh growl.

Heather swallowed down her fear, and squared her shoulders.
“If it were completely about revenge, ye’d have taken me for yourself.”

He grunted, and she hoped she hadn’t just given him an idea.
As if to taunt her, he canted his hips forward, pressing that intimate part of him to her bottom. She nearly drowned in her combination of cough and gasp.

“What harm will it be if ye tell me?” She scooted forward
, away from him.

“There’s a bit of silver in it.”

“Silver. Hmm…”

“Dinna offer to double it. I will nay bargain for it.” The priest tugged her backward, firmly planting her rump between his thighs. “Unless ye wanted to offer me another reward.”

Please, God, let him not be offering up
that
in exchange for her freedom. “Not silver?”

“Mmm
hmm.” He nuzzled her hair, pressed his lips to the side of her ear, sending white-hot shivers all over her. What was he doing? Why was he doing it? Nay, why did
she
enjoy it? “What will ye give me that’s better than silver?”

“I—I could
not know what ye want,” she stammered, pretending innocence, though his message was more than clear.

“Och, aye, ye know it.” His hand gripped her hip hard, then skimmed upward just beneath her breast.

Heather gasped and jolted forward—a little too far. She gripped on to the horse’s mane to steady herself from falling over the animal’s head.

“I see ye understand.”

“Aye. And I will not give ye
that
.”

The man had the audacity to chuckle.
Had he been teasing her this entire time?

“Ye blaspheme your profession.”
She should have been outraged, but instead she found herself intrigued by a man who was as much a fan of trickery as herself.

“Do I?”

“A man of the cloth with such lustful thoughts,” she reproached.

“I am but a man, and ye a beautiful, supple lass.”
He squeezed her hip for emphasis.

Heather didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.
Perhaps she was a bit of both. And that scared her most of all.

“Tell me this, lass, ye seem more concerned with what is to come rather than what has already occurred. Ye lack fe
ar. Either ye are extremely dimwitted or exceedingly devious.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open, but before she could reply
, he continued, “Given that ye pray in the chapel each morning before Mass begins, one would think ye might be a pious and virtuous lady. But I’m inclined to think ye go each morning, dutifully, to pay penance for your sins. What sins do ye have, lass?”

’Twas hard to close her mouth after it had fallen open.
How in the devil did he know? She bit her lip to keep from retorting something truly unladylike, and instead replied, “Not nearly as many as ye, Priest.”

His chest rumbled against her back as he laughed. “A pity we were not introduced under different circumstances.”

“Because a priest and a wayward lass would have made such amiable dinner companions?” Heather said sarcastically.

“Nay, lass, not dinner companions,” he said in low tones against her ear.

Her face heated again as a shiver passed over her. The man had a knack for turning her body heat up ten degrees with a few whispered words.

“I think I might have preferred the gag.
”

Priest laughed again.

Heather clamped her mouth closed, swearing she wouldn’t speak again for…well, for how long she didn’t know. But one thing was certain, she needed to stop entertaining the notion that there was more to this situation than a bad man stealing a noblewoman.

Chapter Four

R
elief flooded Duncan as soon as they crossed through the narrow valley, and the abandoned castle crept into view. He’d been here before. Countless times.

The sun had begun to set behind the darkened clouds that gathered. They were in for a summer storm. He wouldn’t be surprised if it hit before they had a chance to make camp within the
crumbling castle’s walls. But judging by the look of it, the rain would taper into a gentle mist.

“We are nearly there,” he said, mostly out of courtesy to the lass. She’d been troubling him with talk since before dawn, but the last hour had remained silent, save for the grumble of her stomach.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat and somehow managed to sit taller.

Lady H
eather was more likely than not stiff as steel. She’d sat straight, prim and proper for the entire ride, and every time he’d tugged her back against him, she’d inched slowly forward. If she sat any straighter, she’d snap in two.

The woman thought he was touching her indecently on purpose, and while that was partly true, it was also difficult to ride a horse when his companion was practic
ally sitting on the mount’s neck. Blade kept shaking his head with displeasure.

Thank the saints
that in a few moments they would be off his poor mount’s back and safely ensconced within the castle walls.

“Who lives there?” she asked.

He could tell she tried to sound strong, but beneath her haughty tone was a glimmer of fear. Her fear incited a feeling inside him he’d not experienced often—empathy. ’Twas unsettling.

“No one.”
At least none since he’d been born. It looked to have been laid siege to, not old enough to have crumbled on its own. One entire side of the keep was collapsed, the rest falling piece by piece as the years went by. But not so much that he thought it would be unsafe to sleep there.

“Then why are we
making camp inside?”

“Because no one is there.” Duncan tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. She still had yet to grasp the con
cept of his having abducted her and the need to keep a low profile because of it. “Did ye expect a feast filled with guests clamoring for your attention?”

Heather’s elbow shot backward.
Duncan leaned back just in time to avoid the jab. While she made a pretense of shifting in the saddle, he had the distinct impression she had, in fact, been trying to elbow him.

He had to
clench his jaw to keep from laughing. The spirits of a dozen whiny wenches resided within the lass for certain.

“I expected no such thing.” She paused a moment, her thoughts hanging nearly visible in the air. “I but wondered if this was where ye’d make the exchange for your pouch of silver.”

And straight to the heart of the matter she went. “Ah, I see. Not this night. Tonight we make camp.”

She nodded, her shoulders sagging a little in what he thought might be relief. “And on the morrow?”

Duncan shoved away that nagging feeling inside him. Forgetting who he was, what his purpose was, would only lead to trouble. Woman trouble was the last thing he needed. “We ride.”

“South?”

He’d not tell her a damn thing. Else, she’d be able to concoct a plan for escape—an incident he was determined to avoid. “That, I’ll nay be sharing with ye.”

“To meet your overlord?”

Duncan frowned. The idea of anyone lording over him left a sour taste in his mouth. “I dinna have an overlord.”

“Every man looks up to someone.”

“I dinna.”

“Not even God?”

His chest seized, pulling him back to a time when he had thought God might be on his side. But then all had been ripped from beneath him. Even those who’d taken him in had been little more than caretakers and teachers. Not family. Men of the cloth themselves. Duncan was alone. Though he wore the robes, he was anything but ecclesiastical. His higher power was the earth itself, the pleasures Mother Nature had to offer and the coin he could make with his skills as a fighter. “Not even God.” The bitterness on his tongue could only be washed away with a few draughts of whisky and a willing wench straddling his thighs—and he was likely to only get one of those this night.

Duncan kept a keen eye out for anyone watching.
They circled the walls. He found a few more stones fallen since the last time he’d been here and weeds growing tall around the edges—with a few matted circles in the grass  where animals must have made a home.

When after walking
Blade round the outskirts of the castle walls, it appeared they were alone, Duncan steered them back toward the spot where the once-wooden wall had rotted away. Probably the first problem the old lord of this place had suffered. He’d built his keep in stone first—and not the wall. Anyone could burn, chop or break down wood. It was more easily accessible than if the lord had born the patience to protect what was his before beautifying it.

Foolish.

A stone castle surrounded by a wooden wall was basically useless in Duncan’s eyes. A waste of time and effort—the end result was an abandoned place that once must have boasted some beauty.

The courtyard
possessed much of the same appearance as the outside, tall grasses growing up where he assumed a dirt-packed road had once been. Outbuildings had collapsed, some of them burned into crumbling ash. Abandoned broken wagons. Nothing much of use. Every person who came upon the castle took from it what they needed.

Duncan
walked Blade right up the left side of the front stairs, the right having crumbled somehow—a stone from a trebuchet? He wasn’t sure, but every time he visited, he did the same thing and rode his horse inside. No way was he going to leave his prized steed outside.

Inside
was darker, though the arrow-slit windows and the partially missing roof did afford some light from the setting sun.

“Why—
”

“Shh…” Duncan cut off the lass. Just because he didn’t see anyone outside, did not mean there were no lurkers within.

He drew his sword, prepared to cut down anyone who attacked them. Gripping the hilt and scanning their surroundings, Duncan made their introductions. “Come out, ye rotten bastards.”

Above
, a few wings flapped hard as nesting birds let out panicked chirps in the broken silence. One poor creature must have been startled so much that its nest fell as it flapped away, spilling its eggs to the rotting floor. A rat to the right scurried over and under the decaying rushes, probably headed in the direction of the crushed eggs. A sorry-looking tapestry hung in drapes from only one corner, the opposite side having long since fallen.

T
here was no other noise. No rush of feet to hide or gasps of shock. No whistle of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. Only a few birds and rats were their company.

All the same, Duncan would use caution. Abandoned castles were excellent resting spots for anyone along the road. Not the safest of places with crumbling walls and the ability for nearly everyone to happen upon, but safer than the forest.
Especially if it were to rain. A partial roof was better than no roof.

He slid his claymore back in place on his back and then dismounted
, his boots crunching on debris littering the floor. Thank the saints, the odor of things rotting was muted, a slight musty smell, really, and that was all.

Heather looked down at him with wide, frightened eyes. A small, foreign twinge of guilt struck him. He’d taken her away from everything she knew, and while she’d put on a brave front, he knew the lass had to be terrified. She’d no inkling of what was in store for her, and honestly, he wasn’t sure either. Lady Ross had insisted on the capt
ive being Heather. No one else in the house would do, and the way the disgusting woman and her whelp of a husband had smiled and eyed each other with hungry interest every time they’d said the poor girl’s name had turned Duncan’s stomach.

Reaching up, he gripped
Heather around her middle. Beneath layers, she had a tiny waist. Why she wore them, he hadn’t a clue. Maybe to trick men like him into thinking she was larger. She sucked in a breath as he pulled her down, holding her against him a little too long. He gazed in her eyes, marveling at their color. Her hips pressed to his, and if he tugged her a couple of inches closer, her breasts would rub against his chest. Damn it. Why did
he
have to wear so many layers? He’d barely be able to feel the softness of her.

“Ye’ve beautiful eyes.” The words were out before he could cease their stroll across his tongue.
Now he was giving her compliments? Did he need to remind himself that this was an abduction and not a seduction?

Heather’s lips parted, her pink tongue darting out over her lower lip and the
n rubbing over the upper, not in a sensual way, but nervously. Didn’t matter, though, he found it entirely erotic.

“Thank y
e,” she said.

He grunted, wanting too much to kiss that enticing mouth and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
“I will not let any harm come to ye.” A promise he couldn’t keep if he turned her over to Lady Ross. “Not while ye’re with me.” Adding that disclaimer didn’t make him feel any better.

Heather
rested her hands on the backs of his forearms, her thumbs pressing gently to the insides of his elbows, making him aware that he still held her waist.

“Not a promise one might receive from a captor,” she said, her voice hushed. Her face colored a little, and he noted that her chest heaved slightly—the lass’s breath was quickening.

Did she like him touching her?

Hell, did she want him to kiss her as much as he wanted to?

Only one way to find out. Before Duncan could talk himself out of it, he lowered his lips slowly to hers. Soft, warm and supple. He slid his lips over hers, breathing in her flowery, feminine scent as his nose touched her cheek.

The lass resist
ed, shoving against his chest. But only for a few seconds. Then she leaned into him. He’d been right. She had wanted to kiss him as much as he’d wanted to kiss her. A thought he was uncomfortable with exploring. Heather slid her hands from his forearms to his upper arms, squeezing. He held his breath, still in a state of disbelief. Why was she kissing him back? And why did he care? He should simply take advantage of it while he could.

Duncan kept his hands firmly planted on her waist, not willing to explore anything further than her mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was too afraid of what touching her would do to him, or that it might scare her into breaking one of the sweetest kisses he’d ever known.

He nudged her lips open at the same time he asked himself what the hell he was doing. This was not at all part of the plan. Though it wasn’t unheard of for abductors to rape their victims, Duncan was no rapist. Nay, he was enjoying this kiss, this play of his lips over hers, and he was going to kiss her till she went limp in his arms. He touched his tongue to her lip, getting just the reaction he’d hoped for—a shocked gasp that made his middle tighten and blood rush straight to his groin.

Duncan nibbled at her lips, not wanting to shock her too much with the thrust of his tongue into her sweet mouth.
But Heather was a bold lass. She slid her arms up, around his neck, lacing her fingers into his hair, and tugged him closer, slanting her head to the side. A natural passion for kissing.

He was not going to disappoint her.

Driving his tongue between her lips, he melded it against the velvet of hers, rubbing, tasting, taking. With this kiss, he claimed her mouth, wished he could have claimed all of her. If not for the fact that she was simply a mission he was to complete, he might have found a spot within these broken castle walls where he could lay her down on his plaid and worship her from head to toe.

Heather was not the type of woman
whom a man used to pleasure himself. With her feisty spirit, he was certain she would be overly entertaining in the bedchamber. Full of passion and life. She matched the tempo of his tongue, pressed her body against his. However many layers she wore, it wasn’t enough to keep the heat of her from him, nor the suppleness of her curves.