To Love a Highlander (13 page)

“So-o-o!” He stepped back, holding his hands palms upward in the air. “If I had fought at St. Mary’s, or anywhere, this day, you would no’ now be standing fully clothed before me, your maidenly virtue intact.”

He heard her breath catch, saw her eyes widen.

“I would’ve slaked my lust for you.” He lowered his hands, using all his strength to ignore how his words tightened his entire body. “All my desires unleashed on you, as soon as I walked in the door. So dinnae push me, lass. I’m no’ in the habit of despoiling virgins, but if you persist in provoking me—”

“I am not—”

“You are a minx and were one the moment you drew your first breath.” Sorley looked her over, not caring if his gaze burned her. She set him aflame. “A man would have to be stone cold dead no’ to want you.”

“Is that why you have terms?” She touched his cloak. “Because you desire me?”

“I’d see you safe, no more.” Sorley gripped her wrist, removing her hand from his mantle before she drove him to doing something he’d regret. He was a breath away from ravishing her. “I’ve told you, I dinnae touch virgins. Leastways no’ where I’d need to if I agreed to your request.”

“But you have.”

“No’ completely.” Sorley shook his head again, hoping he had the strength to keep his own conditions. “I’m willing to help you cause a stir. I will come to you in the hall, plying you with my attentions, kissing and touching you. Before all, I will seduce you. Sir John will see and—”

“That won’t help.” Mirabelle frowned. “I’m not sure he’d care about kisses and a flirtation.”

“Aye, he will. He’ll do so because you must appear
to enjoy my kisses, to welcome everything that happens between us. When he’s livid, I’ll lead you from the hall.” Sorley set his hands on her shoulders, aroused already just by how she looked up at him from beneath her thick, gold-tipped lashes. “What he’ll have witnessed by then will be more than a ‘flirtation,’ I assure you. I will put my hands on you, even slipping them inside your bodice. You must dress accordingly, wearing a gown that dips low enough for me to have access.” He held her gaze as he spoke, wondering if she knew what such words did to him. “If I deem it necessary, I might lower my head and nuzzle your neck, perhaps even trail kisses across the upper swell of your breasts. So you needn’t worry. You will be scandalized, the talk of the court. When we leave the hall, no one will doubt where we are going and why.”

She made a soft noise. Her gaze slipped to his mouth, lingering there just long enough to send a hot tide of desire straight to his loins. When she met his eyes again, a shock of heat swept the rest of him. He could take her now, slaking his savage need for her.

“So when we reach your bedchamber, you’ll—”

“We’ll no’ be going there.” Sorley ignored the regret that punched through him. “It’s enough for Sir John to think so. In truth, I’ll escort you to your own quarters, leaving you at the door. We’ll part ways there and no one will be the wiser. Above all, your virtue will still be intact when you waken the next morning.”

“This is your stipulation?” She gave a slight shake of her head, as if she hadn’t properly heard him. “A deflowering that isn’t one?”

“It is part of my terms, aye.”

“There are others?”

“Two, unless I think of more. I’d know when your father isn’t likely to dine in the hall. I’ll no’ distress him unduly. By the time he hears, he’ll be ready to learn the truth about Sir
John.” Sorley slid his arm around her, resting his hand on the curve of her hip. “You can then tell him what happened. That you are still a maid, as pure as aye.”

“You are most thoughtful.” She sounded annoyed.

“I try, my lady.” Sorley would bet she’d be even more vexed by what he meant to do next.

Before he could let that worry him, he caught her to him, claiming her lips with a fierceness he knew would stun her. He gripped her nape, thrusting his fingers into her hair while keeping his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her crushed against him. He kissed her deeply, pure masculine triumph whipping through him when she pushed her hands up between them, digging her fingers into the front of his cloak as she clung to him, her body melting into his, capitulating.

She leaned into him, tilting her head, parting her lips so he could kiss her more thoroughly. She even flicked her tongue against his, seeming to enjoy his devouring kiss, welcoming the stroking of his tongue over hers, the heady intimacy of the soft, warm breath they shared.

Sorley’s heart hammered, the pounding at his groin an almost unbearable torment.

She clenched her hands against his chest, the sweetest tremor rippling through her. “Oh, dear saints…” She breathed the words against his mouth, sweeping one hand up his chest and over his shoulder to twine her fingers in his hair. “I never knew…”

The reminder of her innocence hit Sorley like a fist to his ribs. He tore his lips from hers and looked down at her, breathing hard.

“That, my sweet, is why I kissed you.” He moved back, took a few more steps, putting an arm’s length of space between them.

He didn’t trust himself to stand close to her.

She blinked, looking almost as deliciously dazed as if
he’d just made love to her and she lay naked and delectable in his mussed bed. “I don’t understand. I thought—”

“That I was overcome with wanting you?” Sorley forced a casual tone.

He
had
been crazed with desire.

But he wasn’t about to let her know.

“Appearing to seduce you in the hall will include such kisses, my lady.” He made it sound as businesslike as he could. “I needed to be certain you’d return them convincingly. If not, we’d have had to practice your reaction. Sir John will only believe our performance if it looks real.”

“I see.” The softness left her face, her entire body going rigid as she straightened. She stood tall, almost looking as if she’d swallowed an iron hearthside poker. “I assume I did well enough?”

Sorley winced inwardly at the ice in her voice. “Better than I would’ve believed, my lady.”

She nodded, not a trace of warmth on her face. “Then I should tell you that my father will be returning to the Red Lion in three days’ time. He wishes to spend a few nights there, studying the mosses and lichen found on the roof slates and instructing the innkeeper how to make foot powder out of crotal lichen. His absence would be a good opportunity for our staged engagement.” She flicked at her sleeve, the high color on her cheeks revealing her annoyance.

“Indeed, lady.” Sorley gave her a slight bow. “I will watch for you in the hall.”

“I will be ready.” She nodded again, even more curtly than before.

Sorley felt more an arse than ever in his life.

But it was for the best, for both of them, to keep their intimate entanglement as straightforward and unemotional as possible.

Indeed, it was crucial.

He held her gaze for a long moment, not liking how every
inch of him burned with the desire to kiss her again. His lust went deep, the urge potent, heightened by how lovely she looked in her high-colored annoyance. He didn’t want his body to respond to her. He really didn’t like the feeling that he was drawn to her for more than her tempting curves and the gleam of her gorgeous flame-bright hair. Mirabelle MacLaren, if she were allowed to, would turn his world upside down.

She was a complication he couldn’t allow.

Not as the King’s man, a Fenris Guard with no place in his life for a headstrong, all-too-inquisitive and clever nobly born female.

So he stepped closer again and took her by the elbow, leading her to the door. Unfortunately, when they reached it he couldn’t resist lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I will look forward to the pleasure, my lady.” He let her go, stepping back into the shadows of the chapel as she strode away across the courtyard, quickly disappearing into the rainy darkness.

The moment the mists closed around her, he swore.

He should be glad to have riled her. There truly was no room in his life for Lady Mirabelle. To be sure, he didn’t fit into her world.

The problem was how much that bothered him.

B
otheration!” Mirabelle heard the chapel door close behind her, the soft fall of the latch proving Sorley had chosen not to follow her. When he’d remained in the open doorway after she left, she’d thought he might do so.

Truth be told, she’d hoped he would.

Instead, he’d simply stood there and watched her walk off into the cold, wet night. She’d known because she’d felt his stare boring into her. She wasn’t about to whirl around to be sure. She could tell fine enough. And her resentment grew with each step she took.

She shouldn’t be surprised.

Everyone knew he was a rogue, rough-edged and brazen. He lived to please himself, barely accepting the strictures of a civilized society, and then only when it served him to adhere to such constraints.

Sadly, she couldn’t make such excuses for her own actions, or for the frustration and disappointment she was now feeling.

She paused to draw her cloak tighter against the wind. Not that she minded its buffeting. The wild wet night suited
her mood. Mist and clouds swirled everywhere, great billowing swaths of gray that filled the courtyard and swooped down from the heavens to race across the ramparts. The rain was still little more than a drizzle. But the fog had thickened into a whirling, shimmering mass that cloaked the castle’s highest towers, hiding much of the keep from view. Torches did burn in the arcaded walkways around the courtyard, but their flames were mere smudges of yellow against the gloom.

That was fine with her.

Darkness meant chances were good no one had seen her leave the chapel.

Even so, she strove to keep her back straight, her head raised. She might be stepping a mite faster than she’d like, but she felt a powerful need to put distance between herself and the great folly she’d allowed to befall her when Sorley announced his conditions.

She hadn’t expected him to kiss her.

Not this night, anyway.

She’d thought to be more prepared when the inevitable kissing began. She knew enough about mating to be aware that kisses would be a prelude to the carnal act. She’d not wanted him to sense her attraction to him. He’d refuse her for sure, if he knew. So she’d meant to detach herself from her body and the natural physical urges that would surely arise. She’d turn her mind to other matters.

Her plan was good.

She’d pretend Sorley’s seduction wasn’t happening and conjure images of her father’s collection of lichens, moss, and sundry other healing goods on display in so many of Knocking’s rooms.

She could think of little better to dash sensual arousal than the dried heads of adders, twists of withered eel, and the claw-joints of newts, carefully preserved in full moon-infused sage oil.

She’d also neglected to tell Sorley about the wild-looking Highlander—Grim Mackintosh, by name—who’d called at the Red Lion Inn, asking of him.

And didn’t that prove how thoroughly Sorley scattered her wits?

Feeling honor-bound to let him know, she started to turn, thinking to go after him. Before she could, something stirred in the arcade. She blinked, staring at the patch of rose-colored luminosity gliding along the covered walkway, moving slowly and with grace.

Mirabelle’s eyes rounded, heart almost stilling.

She forgot the mysterious Highlander.

How could she not when the rose
glow
was taking on the shape of a woman? Mirabelle could see her luminous gown, delicate and fine, a whisper of flowing skirts. She wore a hooded robe or perhaps a shawl draped over her head. Mirabelle could even make out the fullness of her breasts, the feminine shoulders and gently rounded hips.

And even though the rose-hued raiment looked like silk and was molded to her curves, the arcade’s walling showed right through the shimmering form.

That could only mean…

She was staring at Stirling Castle’s pink lady.

Clasping a hand to her breast, Mirabelle watched as the ghost slid silently along the arcade. Her pink mantle glowed and her cowled head was bowed. The fine hairs on her nape lifting, Mirabelle took a cautious step forward, then another. Now that the famed spirit was so near, she had to get a better look. She’d tried too many times to catch a glimpse of her.

So she edged closer, painfully aware of her footsteps on the cobbles. The pink lady had drifted behind one of the stone pillars and hadn’t yet reappeared. Mirabelle bit her lip, willing the ghost to emerge. She crept nearer, trying to step quietly.

“Please…” She was almost at the arcade. “I know you’re there.”

“I am flattered, fair lady.” Sir John Sinclair stepped out of the darkness. He smiled, his teeth flashing white. “Looking for me, were you?”

“Sir John!” Mirabelle started, her heart now thundering for an entirely different reason. His smile didn’t waver and as always, something about it made her skin crawl. He wore a dark cloak, explaining why she hadn’t noticed him approach. Richly worked, even bearing costly jet along the edges, the mantle didn’t match the rumors that he was on the verge of losing his lands and titles. Neither did the gold flashing at his throat and on his fingers.

Dark, lean, and handsome in a smooth, polished way that didn’t at all appeal to her, he finally stopped smiling and let his hooded gaze glide over her. Somehow, even with a serious expression, he managed to appear amused.

Mirabelle stood straighter, bestowed her haughtiest gaze on him.

His eyes glinted. “If I’d known you desired my company, I’d have left the hall much earlier, Lady Mirabelle.”

“I wasn’t looking for you.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than it did to her.

“Then perhaps you are pleased to have found me?”

“You surely know the answer to that, good sir,” she dared, irritation bubbling up inside her. It cost her entire will not to hitch her skirts, turn, and stride away. Instead, she kept her chin raised, her gaze steady on his.

“Indeed.” He nodded as if unfazed by her rudeness. If anything, the glimmer in his eyes turned unpleasantly appreciative.

She wished her heart would stop racing.

There were folk who aye knew when someone was ill at ease. She was sure Sir John possessed such skill. His hooded eyes said as much, as did the slight lift to one of his brows.
He could see right through her. And he was well aware she couldn’t stand him, that he was the last person she would’ve wished to meet alone, on such a dark, dreich night.

“So you weren’t seeking my company?” His tone made her shiver, not pleasantly.

“I thought I saw one of the castle cats.” She glanced about as if searching for such a creature.

Nothing stirred.

Mist swirled everywhere, thick and cold. Hazy light spilled from the nearby hall’s door and windows, but did little to chase the shadows. Any other time she wouldn’t have minded. She would’ve found the night’s silvery cast beautiful, even magical in a wondrous, otherworldly way. She usually appreciated such evenings.

But Sir John was leaning in, reaching for her hand, surely to kiss…

Mirabelle backed away, bumping into a pillar. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask the same of you, my lady.” He stepped closer, his sleek, oiled hair gleaming in the torchlight. Whatever grease he smoothed on his dark, carefully combed hair also glistened in his neatly trimmed beard. It smelled, too, the heavily spiced scent almost overpowering. “A lady shouldn’t be out on her own, in the dark.”

“Celtic women have more freedoms than others.” Mirabelle slipped her hands behind her back, clasping them, before he could seize one and lift it to his lips. “We go where we please, when we wish.”

“Then I am most intrigued.” If he noticed her hand-trick, he gave no indication. “I admire a woman with spirit. Temperament and courage are alluring in many ways. A woman unafraid to explore her passion is a female highly prized.” He caught her elbow, tugging her closer, a suggestive smile curving his lips. “When she accepts a man’s guidance, is willing to indulge—”

“I am sure the hall is filled with such ladies.” Mirabelle tried to break free, but his grip was like iron. “One of them will—”

“Court ladies bore me.” He drew her nearer still, his smile fading into a look of such intense deliberation Mirabelle’s blood chilled. Lifting his free hand, he undid the clasp of her mantle so that the edges fell free, revealing the low-cut bodice of her gown.

“That was not wise.” Mirabelle bristled. Snatching her brooch, she refastened it and gave Sinclair her iciest stare. “No man touches me.”

“So I have observed.” He had the audacity to look pleased. “Why do you think I’ve noticed you?”

“Then pray un-notice me.”

His gaze flicked over her, a corner of his lips lifting in a slow, measuring way. “That, sweeting, is as impossible as telling a river to change its course.”

Mirabelle narrowed her eyes at him, pride not letting her flinch.

The chill air tightened her breasts, raising gooseflesh and causing her nipples to thrust against the dipping fabric. Thinking of Sorley, she’d chosen one of her most daring gowns. The deep-plunging front verged on indecent, allowing the tops of her nipples to peek above the bodice edging.

Any moment they’d pop free.

She could feel the cold air puckering that sensitive flesh now, knew her agitated breathing already exposed even more of her than the gown’s scandalous design intended. One more too-deep, overly long inhalation and her nipples would wink pertly at Sinclair, a possibility he clearly anticipated, for he’d again let his gaze drift lower, latching on to the top swells of her bosom, the rims of the chill-puckered crests. Mirabelle felt his stare as surely as if he’d reached out and grasped her breasts with his long, beringed fingers.

She jerked again, trying to pull away. “Did you know Highland woman carry daggers?”

“I have heard it said.” He didn’t blink, his gaze riveted to her breasts.

He also didn’t release her.

If anything, his grip on her arm tightened.

“It should delight me to discover where you’ve hidden your ladies’ dirk.” He looked up then, triumph on his face. “Perhaps you will show me when I visit your father at Knocking Tower. We can take a walk across your heathered moors and—”

“My father would never—”

“Invite me to your home?” He released her at last, stepping back but bracing a hand on the arcade pillar, his outstretched arm blocking her escape. “Dear lady, you truly should spend more time in your sire’s company rather than flitting about alone in the cold, dark mist. Your father has asked me to come to Knocking.” His confident air rang true. “I told him I’ve traveled the Hebrides. And that, while there, I was fortunate enough to spend time at the homes of several clan chiefs who give patronage to the MacBeths, the learned order of Gaelic healers. Your father is most interested to hear about—”

“Lies?” Mirabelle didn’t believe a word.

Sir John shrugged. “Your father was impressed.”

“He will listen to me.” She knew he wouldn’t.

Not if he thought he could spend hours and days questioning Sinclair about the far-famed MacBeths.

“You will only irritate him.” He leaned in, his wine-tinged breath fanning her cheek. “It was his suggestion that I ride north with you when you leave here. And”—he let his gaze sweep her again—“why should I not when such delights await me? A walk in the heather with you, learning the secret place you hide your—”

“I’ll show you now!” Mirabelle thrust her hand through
a slit in her skirts and whipped out the thin-bladed dirk she wore strapped to her thigh. Brandishing it before Sinclair’s nose, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me use it. I’d rather not bloody the King’s courtyard cobbles.”

To her annoyance, Sir John laughed. “Your fire attracts me, lady. Now I shall truly look forward to my visit to your wild Highland hills. If all the ladies there are such vixens, then I shall—”

“You wouldn’t leave alive.” Mirabelle tossed back her hair and pressed her dirk beneath his chin. “No one would ever find your body, because we’d toss you in a bog. It’d be a shame if any Highland creature soured his stomach from gnawing on your rotten bones.”

“Just how would you kill me?” He seized her wrist in a lightning-quick move, snatching the dagger and flipping her skirts up to reveal the leather sheath strapped high on her right thigh. “Try such foolery again and it is you who will not waken to enjoy the morrow,” he hissed, shoving the blade back into its holder and letting her skirts drop. “Be warned and do not test my leniency.”

“Then do not expect to sleep well if ever you do come to the Highlands.” Mirabelle swatted at her skirts and yanked her cloak back together. “We are not above being sneaky if pressed to a wall, my lord.”

He looked amused. “I can well imagine you in such a position. A woman against a wall is a joy to savor.”

“A man sleeping is easy prey.” Furious, Mirabelle held his gaze. “More than one fool has left this world in the dead of night, his journey to hell hastened by a knife slipped between his ribs as he slumbered.”

“How good to see that converse with you will never be wearying.” He lifted a hand to pull on the pointed tip of his beard. “I vow your bed play—”