To Desire a Highlander (18 page)

“Your attentions!” Her eyes narrowed, her fury crackling between them, almost heating the air. “You want them to think you’ve taken my innocence.”

“Lady, you are sheltered, indeed, if you’re no’ aware that your menfolk already expect that to happen. In
truth, my own men wouldn’t be surprised by the sight.” He stepped closer, set his hands on her shoulders. “This night, in this wee room, the two of us joined on thon bed,” he told her, the words conjuring images he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Mating,” he added, hoping his frankness would shock her into believing him the brute he was trying to appear. “It is what’s done on the night of a handfast. Anything else would stir suspicion and I cannae allow that.”

She set her hands on her hips. “So men will come abovestairs to see me in bed, thinking the worst?”

“They will think no ill.” He cupped her chin, lifting her face. “Your family will be pleased. My men, though they know fine naught will have happened, will still envy me greatly.”

Her eyes glittered. “I won’t do it.”

“You will.” Roag leaned in, so near his nose almost touched hers. “Be glad there’ll benae viewing. I told your sire I was already satisfied with you, and my men wouldn’t dare call for the like, knowing what they do.”

She shivered, visibly. “That’s a barbaric custom.”

“Even so, it remains tradition.” He released her, stepping back before he kissed her. She riled—and roused—him that greatly. “If a newly bonded pair dinnae stand unclothed before each other, assuring themselves and all concerned of the acceptability of their
attributes,
much can sour in unions where an heir is required.”

“We do not have a union.” She smoothed back her hair, brushed at her skirts.

“Perhaps, nae.” He gave her that. “But you are bound to MacDonnell. He could demand to examine you, lady. Carefully, at length, and in any way he might choose,”
he warned, aware her prickliness could cause problems lest she feared to rile him. “As a generally well-lusted man, I wouldnae mind carrying out such a viewing of you. Indeed”—he felt his damnable cock twitch—“I’d relish it.”

“You, sir, are a beast.”

“So some say.” He unclasped the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, tore off his plaid, and flung it aside. Bending forward, he began pulling off his heavy mail shirt, allowing himself a wee surge of pride that he had the strength to do so without the aid of a squire. “If you dinnae wish to see just how beastly I am, you’d best make haste to undress your bonnie self and crawl into bed. I’ll be unclothed in an eye-blink and if you aren’t, I shall come and do the honors.” He straightened, carefully placed his hauberk on the floor.

“You needn’t,” she returned, disdain edging her voice.

“I would do so gladly.”

“A beast and a bastard, then.”

“Aye, that, too,” Roag shot back, secretly amused by her spirit.

Before a smile could quirk his lips, he reached to tug off his boots, his only boon to his honor being that he kept his back to her. He could hear her undressing. The soft rustling of her clothes as they slid down her body and fell to the floor set him like granite. It was a sight he would spare her. A vexatious condition he supposed would plague him all night.

And who could blame him?

“One other warning, sweetness,” he called, now standing full naked near the window. “When my men knock on the door, I’ll be answering it naked. If you dinnae want to—”

“I have seen unclothed men, sirrah,” she snapped, the sound of bedding being whipped back revealing she was climbing beneath the covers. “I will not wilt if I glimpse one more.”

I willnae wilt either!
Roag almost declared, half worried he’d remain hard for days.

No female had ever beset him so fiercely.

He’d lost count of how many lovelies had willingly aired their skirts for him, pleasuring him gladly, even begging him to do so again. They’d all been delicious dalliances, their charms abundant and their carnal skills well honed.

Lady Gillian was pure.

Yet she burned with a fiery passion he knew would kindle a blaze that would brand him for life.

If he dared to touch her, intimately.

Nae, if he even caught a single glimpse of that oh-so-tempting part of her.

Sure of it, and that the devil himself had sent her into his path, he waited until she settled in the bed. He risked a peek, relieved to see that she’d rolled onto her side, facing the wall, and with a pillow covering her head.

He was safe for now.

So he did the only thing he could think to do and strode over to the window, hoping the night’s chill, damp air would reduce the problem at his loins.

Blessedly, that was so.

But even after he’d stood there long enough to hear Lady Gillian’s breath slowing—a sign, he hoped, that she’d fallen into an exhausted, much-deserved slumber—his manhood didn’t completely relax. He remained twitchy, his fool piece hanging fine, but so primed the mere thought of her roused him.

So he pushed her from his mind and looked out at the sea, sure he’d never been given a more difficult mission.

Indeed, when he left here he might tell Alex Stewart he was done as a Fenris.

He could take his savings and purchase a small plot of fertile land, become a farmer. Or perhaps he’d invest in his friend William Wyldes’s inn, the Red Lion. The sprawling inn with its well-visited public room was a favorite Fenris watering hole not far outside Stirling town. Roag also appreciated the Red Lion’s serving wenches. Comely lasses who knew how to please men and didn’t set their heads to aching or torment them so fiercely that they stood before the windows of dank and crumbling towers, willing the hard biting wind to chill the lust out of their cocks.

But the night wind was lessening—and his unruly man-piece took advantage, swelling anew.

And not because he’d remembered Wyldes’s lovelies.

It was her.

Lady Gillian MacGuire.

Sure he was doomed, Roag stepped closer to the window, not caring if he got wet. But the rain, too, was thinning. The thick fog had moved on and only wisps of mist curled past the tower. As he’d argued with Gillian, being both a bastard and a beast, the night had begun to clear. Moonlight slanted down to make the sea gleam like beaten silver and bright stars glittered high above. From below came the slapping of waves against the rocks, the sound surprisingly soothing, a balm to his weary soul.

It was a night so beautiful that his heart ached.

But its glory couldn’t compare to the woman asleep on the bed behind him.

He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath against her allure and the spell of this wee isle.

He didn’t want to appreciate either.

He also wondered when he’d become so prophetic. Had he truly told the lass he might be wearying of adventure? He had, and he hoped to all the gods it wasn’t so.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t shake an even worse notion.

That he wasn’t tired of the chase, but embarking on a new gamble: one that went by the byname Spitfire of the Isles and would change his life forever.

Chapter Fourteen

H
o, Donell!” A man’s voice filled the small room, his call waking Gillian.

Other greetings joined in, her father’s and her brothers’ voices unmistakable as someone rapped on the door, demanding entry in a jovial, celebratory tone.

“Your friends, they’re here.” Gillian sat up in the narrow bed, clutching the covers to her breast as she peered into the dimness, searching for the Bear. She saw him at once, for the tiny chamber didn’t offer any hiding places.

He was on the floor beneath the window, his plaid wrapped around him, and in the pale moonlight, it was clear to see that he’d slept. His dark hair was tangled and he blinked, as if he’d just been ripped from deepest dreams.

He was also naked.

Leastways he was partially so, his hard-muscled chest and shoulders and his powerful arms gleaming in the
moonlight. Dark hair fanned across his chest and arrowed down to his waist where the dark line disappeared beneath his plaid. Gillian wished she hadn’t noticed, for the sight made something flutter inside her.

She tore her gaze away, meeting his eyes.

“Your viewing party,” she reminded him, keeping her voice low, blessing Skog, who was finally stirring, his ancient ears at last catching the knocks on the door.

The dog pushed slowly to his feet, barking. But his tail wags hinted that he wouldn’t bar entry to the intruders.

He surely heard, or smelled, her kin.

Gillian did, too, the ale and mead fumes wafting past the door seams proving that much merriment had gone on in the hall as she’d confronted Roag, her world crumbling around her. She tightened her grip on the bed covers, glaring at him.

“Have done,” she urged him, tipping her head toward the door. “Let them peek in and go.”

“No’ till you wipe that scowl off your face,” he warned, at the bed so fast she hadn’t seen him move.

Blessedly, he still held his plaid about his waist. But the thick, long-looking ridge picked out by the brazier glow showed that even partially covered, his manhood was rampant.

Gillian bristled. “How can I not frown when you dare come close to me—like that?” She flicked a glance at the bulge, her heart racing madly. “It’s unseemly. I am a lady—”

“Aye, so you are.” He leaned in, bringing his face so close to hers that his warm breath brushed her cheek. “This night, a well-pleasured one, you hear?” He reached out, mussing her hair, arranging it to spill about her bared
shoulders. “Bite your lips a few times, and hard. Then pinch your cheeks. They need to glow as if thon shouting men have just disturbed us.”

He didn’t need to explain his meaning.

She knew.

And feeling indignant and righteous didn’t stop the rush of sensation racing through her as he fussed with her hair. His strong, warm fingers brushed along the side of her neck, then skimmed across her shoulders, each touch sending a new rush of tingles flashing over her skin. The flutters in her belly worsened, even as annoyance stole her breath and tightened her chest.

“Have done, I said.” She snapped her brows together, determined to show her fury.

“I would love to.” He cupped her chin, his own anger darkening his face. “Now do as I warned, or I might.”

Gillian pressed her lips together. No longer frowning, but schooling her features into a smooth, expressionless mask.

At the door, the raps became poundings. And hoots and laughter joined the shouts for “Donell” to let them in. Skog’s age-roughened barks accompanied them, the ruckus annoying the Bear so much that he stepped back from the bed and raised his hands, fisting them as if to vent his anger.

His plaid fell to the floor.

“Oh!” Gillian’s jaw dropped, her eyes rounding. He was more than
rampant
. He was ragingly so, as the moonlight and the brazier’s glow revealed.

“Indeed.” He glared down at her, making no move to snatch up the fallen plaid. “And if you’re as clever as I suspect, you’ll ken that a man in such a state isnae one to rile.

“Now look sated.” He stepped nearer to the bed’s edge, the whole of his naked perfection only inches away. “Remember if you dinnae, there will be a price of blood to pay—your kin’s.”

Gillian scooted closer to the wall, felt her face heating with rage. “You bastard.”

“So I am,” he agreed, already striding for the door.

“Ho, Donell!” the first man who’d knocked called out again, lifting his voice above the others. “ ’Tis cold and drafty on this landing! Let us see the two o’ ye, so we can head back down to the warmth o’ the hall and our mead!”

“Or are ye still so busy plowing fertile fields that ye dinnae hear us?” another shouted, his words spurring a burst of laughter and more vigorous door-hammerings.

“The seeds are sowed,” Roag confirmed, throwing the door wide.

Two of his largest men stood on the threshold. The red-bearded giant Gillian recognized as Conn of the Strong Arm, the
Valkyrie
’s helmsman, and a man reported to have Erse blood, spoke first. “You ken why we’re here, my friend.” He clapped a hand on Roag’s shoulder, peering past him to narrow his eyes at Gillian. “ ’Tis tradition in my Irish homeland as well—looking in to see that all’s right betwixt the happy twain after a bonding.”

Roag glanced back at her, then turned again to his helmsman. “We are well satisfied, be it known.”

Gillian heard him, wanting nothing more than to sink into the shadows.

“Aye, sweet?” Roag shot another look at her, a warning in his eyes.

She forced a nod, if not a smile. “I will be tired come morning,” she returned, grasping the first response that
came to her.
Had this beast truly lain with me, I doubt I’d be able to walk for a week!
She kept the truth to herself, took care not to let the bed coverings slip from her trembling fingers.

“All that was required of us has been done,” she added, hoping the hot color staining her cheeks would appear to the gawkers as the flush of passion.

She refused to think of this as a viewing.

It was an outrage.

“So all is well?” The question was directed at Roag and came from the second man, an equally towering figure she’d heard Roag call Big Hughie Alesone.