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

The Highlander's Sin (6 page)

BOOK: The Highlander's Sin
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Unable to help himself, Duncan slid his hands to her hips, squeezing as he massaged his way down to her buttocks.
No amount of layers could hide the ripe roundness of her behind. As he gripped her rear in his hands, Heather gasped, for the first time breaking their kiss.

She leapt backward
. Her hands untangled from his hair in a painful yank. The leather thong that had held his hair back trickled to the ground from her fingers. Wrenching her hand back, she tried to slap him, but Duncan caught her hand an inch before his face.

He made a
tsking
sound with his tongue. “For shame, lassie. Ye might have me thinking ye didna enjoy that kiss.”

Fury filled her frown. If eyes could form daggers, she’d have shot half a dozen at him already. “I didna enjoy it.”

Duncan snaked his arm around her middle and tugged her back against him. “I would beg to differ.”

She panted
with frustration and tried to wriggle free.

“Your eyes are darkened with desire. Lips swollen from kissing. Skin flushed.” He pressed his hand above her breasts, feeling the quickened beat of her heart beneath his palm. “Your heart beats as fast as your breath.” He scraped his stubbled jaw over her cheek and pressed his lips
to her ear. “Your mouth can tell me ye hated it, but your body doesna lie.”

Heather cried out in outrage and jumped away from him, her delicate little hands fisted at her sides. Duncan smiled wickedly in her direction and winked, loving how it
appeared only to make her angrier.

“How dare ye speak to me like that? Do ye have any idea what ye’ve done? The extent to which ye’ve gone and the wrath my family will bring down upon your head?”

Duncan let out a short, bitter laugh. “Och, lass, ye dinna understand.” He stepped closer to her, his smile disappearing as he stared into her heated, violet eyes. “I dinna give a fig about your family or what they’ll do to me. Ye see, your family is the very reason behind what I’m doing. And for the record, I know damn well what I just did. This.”

Without asking permission, nor waiting for her response, Duncan grasped Heather’s upper arms in a vice-like grip and lifted her off her feet, crashing his mouth against hers at the very same moment. He took possession of her mouth, and he wasn’t gentle like he’d been the first time. Nay, this kiss was a claiming, a show of power, a way for him to let his anger at her family channel through him and into her, all while knowing that she damn
ed well liked it.

The wench struggled at first, wriggling in his grasp, kicking at his shins. But as soon as his tongue touched hers
, all her struggles ceased, and she hungrily kissed him in return. Duncan slowly set her down, only to wrap his arms around her waist and lift her again, backing her up against a stone wall, where he held her captive. Nonetheless, as soon as her back hit and his hard body slammed against the welcoming planes of hers, he knew he had to stop.

This was only going to lead
to a deed he was absolutely not ready for—one of a carnal nature. Hell, he could have kissed her all day. If she hadn’t been a Sutherland, he’d have bedded her already. The fact remained, however, that Lady Heather was not his for the plucking, as much as he would have relished lifting her skirts to reveal the soft, wet petals of her femininity.

And, he wasn’t a rapist. There was a big difference between him and other warriors for hire. Duncan had morals. Even if he had an empire full of sins.

“Damn it,” he growled, shoving away from her warm and willing body.

Heather blanched, her face going about two shades lighter than the norm. “Get away from me,” she managed to choke out.

The woman was just as affected by their kiss as he was. Duncan whirled away from her, not caring that she might be able to pull a concealed weapon from her person and attack him with it. His cock was rock hard and tenting the front of his robes in a way he knew would draw her attention—and vexation. His sexuality was his own enemy. A man of the cloth shouldn’t feel the way he did, nor do the things he’d done.

Duncan had to admit the truth. He might have taken vows once, but he’d long since let them go.

Just like he needed to let go of this insane attraction he felt for his captive. His enemy’s niece—Lady Heather Sutherland.

Chapter Five

 

“T
ime for bed,” the priest said gruffly, swiping the leather thong she’d pulled from his hair off the floor. He threaded his hands through his hair, pulling it back and tying the leather in it once more.

Heather gaped at the warrior priest,
still in a state of shock at being pressed up against a wall. Her mouth tantalized with his wicked tongue. The way he’d caressed her, sliding his body over hers… She was fairly certain now that his robes were a front for his true nature—a virgin-seducing warrior.

The few kisses she’d received in her life did not compare in the least to what had just happened between them. She could still feel his hard, hot body
tucked so intimately to hers, his velvet tongue sliding roughly and then enticingly over hers. His hands gripping tight to her hips…her bottom. His scent—a masculine mix of the outdoors, horses and something spicy.

Good God, if he’d not pushed away from her when he had, she would have willingly lifted her skirts if only to find out if every touch was as exquisite as his kiss.

A realization that scared the wits out of her.

“Come over here.” He walked to the far wall of the great hall
, where the hearth still stood strong in the center. Broken furniture and discarded rubbish crowded the floor, and she had to pick her way carefully over it.

The castle had obviously long since been stripped of anything that held value.

“Sit.”

Heather’s heart skidded at his tone. Commanding, cruel, cold. No more of the passion that had ignited between them. A clue that what had happened affected her much more than
it had him. If anything, he was angry about it. Not confused like she was. Confused about why she’d liked it so much and how to make her lips stop tingling. She pursed her lips, and then pressed them hard together, attempting to force herself to stop thinking about their kiss.

The warrior kicked away debris by the wall, clearing a space
, and then pointed at the floor. Heather nodded and rushed forward, hating that she was so willing to comply with him. If he could be so cruel with a kiss, there was no telling to what extent he’d go if she riled him up enough. Her stomach growled.

“I’m hungry,” she said quietly as she approached.

He stiffened. “Sit.”

Heather frowned and followed his instructions, smoothing her skirts beneath her and praying no rats decided to nibble on her fingers and toes when complete darkness came and she’d no warning of their approach.

The man rummaged in a satchel, pulling out a few oatcakes and scraps of jerky. “Here.”

“Thank ye.” Why she thanked him, she didn’t know. He didn’t deserve that much
, especially when he was tossing scraps at her like she was a dog.

He was rude, inconsiderate, had practically molested her—no matter that she
’d liked it—and he’d taken her away from her family, intent on delivering her into the hands of some evil lord for a few coins. There hadn’t been a chance to escape yet, but as soon as he was asleep, she was going to steal his horse and make a run for it.

Heather bit into the stale oatcake, hating how it
sucked the moisture from her tongue. She choked it down and took another bite. Food was energy, and she was going to need it in a few hours.

She watched from hooded eyes as
the priest wiped down his horse, fed the animal an apple and whispered in his ear. Treated his warhorse better than he did her. Not surprising. Most warriors did. Their horses were their constant companions. If they didn’t treat them well, the animals were likely to rebel. A rebelling warhorse was dangerous, even potentially deadly to a warrior.

Mystery clouded her abductor. He wore priest’s robes, the crucifix around his neck lent an air of religion
, but the way he kissed was anything but saintly. Who was he? What was his story? Not that she should have an inkling of curiosity about him. He was, after all, trying to thwart her desire to meet up with William Wallace. But something about him compelled her interest.

With a frown she bit into the jerky—and practically cracked her teeth. It was so hard, she had to gnaw on it for a good minute before a
small, mangled piece popped off. She shivered at the taste. Not good in the least. Tasted more like a slice of the priest’s belt than dried venison flank. Heather actually pulled it back to make sure it wasn’t a belt. Hmm. Nay. Definitely jerky. Just the very worst she’d ever had.

“Be happy I’m nay starving ye, princess.”

Heather ripped off another chunk of venison and glared up at the warrior priest. How did he know she was so disgusted with her meal? He’d not even been watching her. That she knew of… He was sly as a fox, this one.

“Why dinna ye just take off those robes ye hide beneath and show your true colors
?” she snapped.

He grinned in a way that was not quite filled with humor. “Would
ye like that? For I wear nothing else.”

“Ye disgust me.” How could he just say the things he said? How could he make her feel the way she did?
The man
was
dressed beneath his robes, she’d seen his warrior garb when he’d threatened her with the ax, but that didn’t matter. It was the thought of him wearing nothing beneath the robes that sent chills racing up and down her arms. She wanted to run over to him and hit him repeatedly—until her fists cried out for mercy.

“Ye disgust yourself.”

Heather let out a cry of outrage. “I dinna!”

“Huh.” And that was all he said before he sat on a stool—or rather a chair that’s back had been broken off. He bit effortlessly into his venison
, making her wonder if he’d given her the worst pieces.

“What do ye mean by that?” she asked, unable to resist taking his bait.

“By what?” he asked nonchalantly as he munched.

Oh, she could feel the rage boiling in her blood. Instead of saying something she’d regret, Heather chomped down on another sawdust oatcake.

“Well? Are ye going to explain your question, or are ye in the habit of ignoring people?” The way he’d said it was as though he were trying to annoy her. On purpose.

“Ye are no person.”

He lifted a brow and reached beneath his robes. Her heart thundered. What was he about? Had he somehow managed to strip nude and discard his clothes when she hadn’t been looking? But when he pulled out only a small flask, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed he’d not made good on his threat to show her just what was beneath his robes. She’d felt
it
. Hard, thick and long. A woman of her age and status should have been afraid to feel such intimate parts of a man. But not Heather. She was intensely curious. Dangerously so. All in spite of hating him and the very ground he sat on.

“If I’m not a person, then what am I?”

“Good question.”

She smirked, then licked her lips as he guzzled whatever was in the flask. Her tongue was dry
, and she was suddenly overcome by an extreme thirst.

“And being an educated noble
woman from the house of Sutherland, ye’ve a good answer, I’m certain.” Sarcasm laced his words.

The man was irritating. So much so she cringed. The cor
ner of his lip curled as he observed her. Thick, kissable lips. Heather tossed the rest of her distasteful dinner a few feet away.


Ye’ve just invited a slew of rats to feast on your leftovers and your luscious legs.”

He thought her legs luscious? A twinge of heat
roused between her thighs. God bless it, this man made her forget everything she wanted, needed. Made her forget her duty to Scotland and the very reason she’d left in the first place—because she was going to escape from him and find William Wallace.

“Ye’re a cad. That’s what ye are. And ye have
no name.”

“I have a name.” He wiped a droplet of liquid from his lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

Heather crossed her arms over her breasts—partly in obstinance and partly to hide the fact that her nipples had hardened into achy, wanton buds. “Then tell me what it is.”

He took another swig from his flask and observed her closely, seeming to study every angle of her face and form before he finally answered. “Duncan.”

“Duncan,” Heather repeated.

“Aye.”

“Father Duncan?”

He nodded. “In the flesh.”

“What about…” She trailed off, unable to form the words without having them trip over her tongue.

She wanted to ask him about their kiss. How a man of the cloth could hold such passion and wield it with such skill. Heather licked her lips and sat forward. “Mind sharing that drink?” Not the question she
’d wanted to ask, but her thirst was becoming overwhelming.

Duncan strutted forward, handing her the flask. Their fingers brushed as she took it
, and a tremor shook her. Dear God, how was it possible for him to have taken hold of her so easily? She was supposed to hate him. Thought she did. And yet, when he touched her—with the tips of his fingers—while passing a drink, a need for sustenance, she trembled.

“Thank
ye,” she muttered.

Heather touched the rim of the flask to her lips and tipped it back. Knowing it wasn’t going to be water, she was still shocked by the burn that took hold as liquid fire poured onto her tongue.

She jerked the flask away and sprayed the liquid in front of her, followed by uncontrollable coughs. “What is this?” she managed.


Whisky. And ye’ve wasted a lot of it.” He snatched the flask from her and, with exaggerated movement, shoved the cork back in place. “I forget ye’re but a bairn.” Grabbing hold of a skin from where he’d placed his things, he tossed it to her.

Heather had good reflexes and had played catch enough that she easily reached out to snatch the tossed waterskin from the air.
Duncan’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Did ye hope I’d drop it?” she asked with a bit of snippiness.
’Haps he’d thought her catching the apple earlier that day had been chance.

Duncan chuckled. “Nay. I had hoped it would knock ye over.”

“Hmph. Ye’ll need a lot more than a waterskin to knock me over.” She popped the cork and chugged the lukewarm, slightly scummy water. As unladylike as it was, she was once more spitting and swiping at her tongue and lips with the back of her hand. “Ugh, where did ye get this?”

Duncan shrugged. “I dinna drink water.”

“How old is it?” she asked, eyes narrowing with concern, her stomach already roiling with the need to heave.

Again he shrugged.

Oh, God, if only she’d not spilled her own supply. Heather threw down the waterskin and made a run for the door, needing to expunge the slimy, who-knew-what water. But Duncan stopped her, his arm slinging around her waist.

“Where do ye think y
e’re going?” he asked.

This time his touch didn’t send
frissons of desire running through her, she was all too consumed with the need to purge.

“Let go of me!” she screeched, writhing in his hold. “I have to—“ But before she could finish, it was already coming out.
Soaked oatcake and jerky splattered inches from the only pair of shoes she had.

“Better?” he asked.

Oh, how she wanted to scream, to scratch his eyes out. No one had ever seen her upend herself before, and here he was asking how it felt. He had deliberately delayed her escape to somewhere private. Forget not hating him. She despised him with every fiber of her being.

“Ye’re a bastard, whor
eson,” she growled, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

Duncan stiffened behind her. “
Ye’ve a nasty little mouth, my lady. Where did ye learn to speak like that? ’Haps I ought to issue ye a penance for speaking to a man of the cloth in such a way.”

“Ye’re no—
” His coarse hand covered her mouth, stifling her words.

He tugged her back tight to his chest and leaned close to her ear. “That’ll be a warning to ye. Next time ye speak to me like that, issue me names, I’ll bend ye over my knee and whip your pretty little arse.”

BOOK: The Highlander's Sin
7.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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