The Renegade's Heart (15 page)

The sincerity in his tone brought tears to
her eyes. Isabella swallowed and lifted her hand to cover his. He
entwined their fingers then, holding her tightly before him. “Prove
it to me,” she whispered, wanting some token from him.

“How? Ask of me what you will.”

Isabella turned in his embrace, meeting his
gaze with new confidence. “Pledge that you will not rob any
travelers in Kinfairlie’s forest.”

Murdoch frowned. “But...”

Isabella put a fingertip over his lips to
silence him. “If my brother truly held the relic, your ploy might
succeed. But he does not, and he does not know of the perpetrator.
All you achieve is to make yourself a hunted man.” His gaze
brightened and she had to avert her own, so suddenly aware was she
that she stood within his embrace. “I would not see you injured,
not for any price.”

“Then I pledge it to you,” Murdoch said, his
voice low with conviction. Isabella glanced up with welcome
surprise, for she had not been sure he would do any such thing.
“What choice have I when you ask it of me?”

Isabella gasped and smiled. Murdoch’s gaze
danced over her, then he bent and brushed his lips across hers.
That single caress left Isabella tingling. Her body hummed like the
string of a bow after the arrow had been fired, and she could not
think as clearly as she might have liked. The sensation was so
pleasurable that she only wanted more.

“You are not the only one beguiled, Murdoch,”
she admitted, her voice uncommonly husky, and his fingers tightened
around hers. “There is one last place I would look to ensure that
the relics are not within Kinfairlie’s bounds,” she said quickly.
“The crypt in the chapel in the village is the only other place the
relics could be secured. I was going there when Gavin brought back
the horse.”

“With the bell tower?”

Isabella nodded. “I will check the crypt but
if the relics are not there, then Alexander does not have
them.”

“Still there remains the question of who he
might protect.”

“I cannot believe that if he knew the thief,
he would not see that person brought to justice.” She turned to
look up at Murdoch, only to find his expression thoughtful.

“Even if it was your brother Ross?”

“Even so,” Isabella said with conviction. “My
father instilled a love of justice in all of us.”

Murdoch nodded and frowned. “Where does
Kinfairlie get its coin?”

“The usual sources. Taxes and tithes, fees to
the court for justice.” Isabella shrugged. “Why?

“How has your brother so much of it?
Kinfairlie is blessed with affluence, yet has no port, no tolls, no
sheep. I cannot reconcile that affluence with its assets.”

Isabella pursed her lips. “You think he has a
hidden source of revenue,” she guessed and Murdoch nodded. “I could
check his ledgers.”

“It might not be listed. A wily man would not
leave such evidence.”

Isabella bit her lip. She knew Alexander was
not wily. “We do have a fair in the autumn and Eleanor had quite an
inheritance. I think it might be honestly gained.”

“I would be certain of it,” Murdoch said with
heat.

Isabella smiled at him. “Then I will check
again.”

His eyes narrowed. “How much do you risk in
this? Would your brother beat you if you were discovered? You must
pledge to me that you will not take any chances, my Isabella.”

“But you take risks all the time!”

“That is different. I have little to lose and
much to gain.”

Isabella did not fully understand that.
“Alexander shouts when he is vexed. He has never struck a one of us
and he never will.”

Murdoch nodded. “And he defends his holding
as my father would have done. That does not mean, though, that he
has not been deceived.” He bent and brushed his lips across hers
once again, lingering over the touch. Such a fleeting kiss was not
enough, not now. She wanted to kiss him fully and deeply – if not
more.

Isabella found herself leaning against
Murdoch’s chest, placing her hands on his shoulders, stretching to
her toes. Her lips parted in anticipation as Murdoch drew her
closer, his eyes darkening with intent.

“My lady, you light a fire that might not be
easily dampened,” he whispered, as if to warn her. Isabella did not
care. She could see the heat in his eyes and feel his desire
against her belly. She knew he wanted her, yet he did not force
himself upon her. Indeed, he halted to ensure that she knew what
she chose.

Because he was precisely the manner of man
she had believed him to be. He might tease her. He might be more
daring than most. He might take risks and he might challenge
authority. But his heart was true and his love of justice was as
sure as her own.

And he would be her knight.

For Isabella was fully aware of what she
chose. She stretched to her toes, slid her hands around Murdoch’s
neck and kissed him fully.

She felt Murdoch’s surprise, for he was
motionless for a heartbeat. Then his hand slid up her throat, his
fingers locking behind her nape to hold her close. His other arm
wound around her waist, lifting her against him, crushing her
against his chest as he deepened his kiss.

He was less gentle than he had been before,
but Isabella did not mind. This was honest and true, passion that
could not be denied. Isabella closed her eyes, dizzy at the rush of
sensation. She twined her fingers into his hair and met him touch
for touch, echoing his every move.

With her participation, Murdoch’s kiss became
more demanding, more ardent, more intoxicating. They created heat
together and Isabella only wanted to experience more. She kissed
him back, trusting his navigation of what was new and wondrous to
her.

* * *

Murdoch knew he should not kiss a maiden as
he kissed Isabella. He knew that she was innocent, and he knew he
took advantage of her trust. His intentions were good, but the
lady’s passion swept those intentions aside.

He loved how her eyes sparkled and her hair
always worked its way loose of her braid. He liked how clever she
was and he admired that she learned the healing arts – no small
goal for any woman. He loved that she gave to those around her and
took her responsibilities seriously, yet she would defy convention
to see justice served. He liked the way she laughed and the array
of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Never had a woman
enchanted him so quickly, and Murdoch yearned to know all about
her. Indeed, he wanted to go to her brother, to pledge his intent
and offer for her hand.

Murdoch knew he should step away from the
temptation Isabella offered, send her home to Kinfairlie’s keep,
and act as the man his father had taught him to be. He should never
have carried Isabella away from the village, but he could not
resist her.

He had no power to deny her kiss.

And he wanted to see her find her pleasure.
Indeed, he could have justified it as a reward for all she had done
for him, a sensory gift that he could give to her. He would give to
her, but he would not take what was not his to claim.

Not until he knew that he would survive.

The press of Isabella’s sweet curves against
him made his flesh heat and the chill in his chest vanish. Her
passion in itself was irresistible, a lure that drew him like a
moth to the flame.

She was alive and vital and mortal.

Murdoch found his hand curved around her
breast, caressing the shape of it. Isabella moaned when he slid his
palm over her nipple, so he did it again, teasing her nipple to a
taut peak through the layers of cloth. She gasped, then pulled him
closer, slanting her mouth across his in perfect echo of how he had
claimed her with a kiss. Her desire took his own to a fever pitch,
and her innocence made him want to teach her all he knew.

Slowly.

Even as his body demanded speed.

Murdoch was undoing the laces at the sides of
her kirtle before he knew what he was about, wanting to feel her
bare skin beneath his hands. He broke their kiss and slid his hands
beneath the heavy wool of the kirtle. There was only the sheer
fabric of her chemise between his hands and her smooth skin, and it
was far too much of an obstacle. Murdoch held her gaze as he let
his hands glide over her smooth strength, finally halting to cup
those breasts again. She was all smoothness and silk, fair and
wondrous and perfect.

Her lips parted and she whispered his name,
but she did not pull away.

Murdoch was both humbled and aroused by her
trust. He smiled down at her as he held her close and caressed her
breast with one hand. He rolled her nipple between his index finger
and thumb, teasing it to a point. Isabella caught her breath and
stared at him in wonder, her lips red and soft, her eyes wide and
full of stars. She flushed and his awareness that this was all new
to her made it new for him.

He wanted to see her nude, her hair unbound
and her lips curved in a welcoming smile. He wanted to have her in
the forest, on a cloak, on a pallet before the fire, in the
darkness and in the sunlight. He wanted to watch her gasp and to
hold her close as the release washed over her body. He wanted to
see Isabella find her pleasure a thousand times in a thousand
different ways.

He wanted to embark on that quest
immediately.

She whispered his name again and swallowed.
Her nipple was tight and hard, a sign of her responsiveness. His
maiden was not shy, for she did not draw away from pleasure, merely
sought its increase. She touched his jaw with her fingertips,
watching as her hands eased over his ears and into his hair.

“Oh, Murdoch,” she whispered, her voice
husky.

Murdoch could not resist her. He bent and
kissed Isabella deeply, welcoming her passion. When she sighed and
surrendered to his touch, he knew he could wait no longer. He broke
his kiss and swept her loosened kirtle aside, then bent to take
that tight peak in his mouth. She gasped when his mouth locked over
her, then moaned with pleasure as he suckled her.

He cradled her against himself and sat on one
great rock so that she lounged across his lap, never ceasing his
kiss. He could guarantee that the lady held the memory of him
tightly in her thoughts – and he could do so without taking a thing
from her. He slid his hand over her knee and up the silken skin of
her thigh. Isabella gasped when his fingers touched the tangle of
hair at the apex of her thighs.

He lifted his head and smiled at her,
savoring the wonder in her expression. He loved how disheveled and
pleased she looked already, and knew she would soon be more so. He
slid his fingers between her legs, smiling more broadly at the
slick heat he found there. She was aroused already and her breath
came more quickly.

“I shall do all that needs to be done,” he
vowed to her. “Simply savor it.” Her lips parted, looking so lush
and soft that he could not resist her. He bent and kissed her
slowly, swallowing her gasp of pleasure when his fingers found the
pearl between her thighs. Isabella shuddered from head to toe, but
she parted her legs and pulled him closer for another kiss.

* * *

Chapter
Seven

Murdoch was more tempting than should be
humanly possible. Isabella knew what she should do and knew what
was sensible and right. But this man had only to smile that slow
smile at her, to let the wicked glint dawn in his blue eyes, or to
touch a fingertip to her, and Isabella could think of nothing other
than his kiss. The pleasure he conjured with his touch drove all
practical matters from Isabella’s thoughts.

Her kirtle was unlaced and his hands were
beneath her chemise, his fingers kindling wondrous new sensations.
She felt wanton, for she could deny him nothing, and indeed, she
wanted more. He touched her with surety, at first gently, then with
more demand. She had no doubt that he knew precisely what he did to
her, for a tumult rose within her unlike anything she had ever felt
before. He coaxed her to lean back on the great rock, the sky
arching chill and blue overhead, and Murdoch’s caress making her
burn with desire.

His kiss tormented and teased her, tempting
her to give him more and more. He murmured her name, his voice
rough with a desire that made her heart pound. He looked down at
her, his eyes glittering as his fingers worked their magic.

“Next time, we shall meet abed,” he whispered
to her, his voice dark with an intent that thrilled her. “Next
time, I shall do this with my mouth, with my tongue and my teeth
and my breath.” He flicked a finger across her and she gasped in
pleasure. “Next time, I shall take you fully and claim you as my
own.”

Murdoch’s voice dropped to a growl, his
intensity making Isabella’s very blood heat. “I would bed you in
furs and velvet,” he vowed and her heart thundered at the
possibility. “I would bed you in sunlight and in moonlight, I would
bed you in darkness and in day, I would bed you in the morning and
in the afternoon.”

“In the stables and the meadow,” Isabella
gasped, loving how he smiled. The tumult rose within her, as
Murdoch conjured it with skill. Isabella was content to do as he
had bidden, though truly, she thought she could not bear more
pleasure. She fairly danced upon his wicked fingers and he grinned
at her, tormenting her so that the heat doubled and redoubled
beneath her skin.

“Indeed,” he whispered. “Make no mistake, my
Isabella, I would bed you every day and every night for the rest of
our lives.” He pinched her clitoris then, his fingers moving with
quick and gentle force.

Isabella cried out as his touch cast her over
the edge and into the abyss, shivers of pleasure cascading through
her body and leaving her trembling in his arms. He caught her close
and kissed her deeply. Isabella clutched fistfuls of his hair,
wanting to merge their bodies into one, to have more of him, even
all of him, and to have it with all haste. She wanted him naked,
his skin pressed against hers and his strength inside her. Although
he had given her pleasure, she ached for more.