To Love a Highlander (3 page)

Certain the world had run mad, he unlatched the door, flinging it wide. With surprising agility, Lady Mirabelle fair
flew across the room and nipped around him, closing the door before he could stop her.

“A word is all I ask of you.” She put out a hand to touch his chest. “Only that, and—”

“Do you believe maidens are ruined by words?”

“I meant just now, as well you know. Later…” She lowered her hand, giving him a look that was much too provocative for a virgin. “You will be generously recompensed.”

“So you said.” Sorley didn’t say how much that offended him.

He also wished he could tear his gaze from her.

Regrettably, he couldn’t.

A softly burning wall sconce limned her in glowing golden light, making her look like an angel. Her rose scent drifted about her, bewitching him now as it’d done so many years before. The heady fragrance was hers alone, an annoying intoxication he remembered well. A temptation he was determined to never fall prey to again.

He frowned. “I dinnae want or need your coin. I might be baseborn, but I’m no’ a man in need of funds. And”—he let his gaze drop to her breasts, her hips—“the only trouble I wish is the kind I make myself. For naught in all broad Scotland would I touch you, a gently born lady.”

A hint of color bloomed on her face. “Do not think I came here lightly.” She drew a breath, her shoulders going back as she struggled to keep her composure. “It is not every day that a woman seeks to blacken her reputation.”

“You’ve already damaged your good name by coming here, assuming someone might have seen you.”

“No one did.”

“Think you?” Sorley cocked a brow. “Are you so well-practiced at sneaking through the night, then? How many times have you crept down empty corridors, slipping into a man’s bedchamber?”

“Never before, but—”

“You’ll no’ do the like again, if you’re wise.” Reaching around her, Sorley cracked the door and peered into the darkened passage. Seeing no one, he turned back to her, needing her gone before he reconsidered his options. An irritating twitch at his loins was making a damned persuasive argument.

He was also tempted simply because her remarkable eyes held nary a flicker of recognition.

She’d forgotten him.

And the knowledge annoyed him almost as much as the slight she’d shown him at her uncle’s celebratory feast all those years ago.

The memory dashed the pleasurable stirrings at his groin.

With slow deliberation, he shut the door and leaned back against its solid, unyielding wood. He crossed his ankles and folded his arms, letting his stance show her that he was prepared to remain there until he had the answers he desired. He was a stubborn man.

Nor did he tire easily.

“So-o-o”—he gave her a slow smile, careful not to let it reach his eyes—“I’d hear why you came to me with such a fool request.”

“Seeing you now, sir,” she returned, her own voice as chilly, “I almost regret my folly.”

“You should.” He studied her face, feeling a scowl darken his own. If anything, she was even more fetching than he remembered. Her silky red-gold hair gleamed in the light of the wall sconce and her sparkling eyes were still the widest, loveliest he’d ever seen. Her small, upturned nose gave her an irksome air of innocence, while her mouth, so full and lush…

The pestiferous twitch at his loins returned.

He willed the stirrings away before she noticed and took advantage.

Praise the gods she wore a cloak that only hinted at the ripeness of her womanly curves.

She was no longer a girl.

And for sure, he wasn’t a cocky, full-of-himself lad.

“You haven’t answered me.” He put just enough arrogance into his tone to prove it.

Her chin came up again, showing her own mettle. “I say I did. I am troubled by a matter of some delicacy and require a man’s aid in—”

“Creating a scandal that will soil you,” Sorley finished for her.

To her credit, she blushed. “It could be put that way, yes.”

“That I understand.” He knew exactly what her wish entailed. “I’d know why you’d give me such an honor?”

“Because it is rumored you are one of the Fenris Guards.” She didn’t blink. “Men the King employs when his noble, more fastidious warriors fail him.” She tilted her head, her gaze bold. “Word is men of the Fenris will do anything. They are known to be fearless. Formidable fighters who”—her eyes took on an entirely too determined glint—“are also known for their legendary skill at seducing women.”

Sorley laughed. “The Fenris
are
legend, my lady. Such men dinnae exist.”

“I have heard you are one of them.”

“All I am is a bastard. Though”—he flashed his most roguish smile—“I’ll admit I enjoy tumbling comely, willing lasses. That includes ladies of quality so long as they are wed or widowed and looking for mutual pleasure. I do not lie with virgins.”

“You speak bluntly.” She glanced aside, the wall sconce revealing the high color blooming on her cheeks.

“I told you the truth, no more.”

He was also damned glad to have shocked her. In his experience, just a hint of a man’s baser nature was enough to send ladies running. Their fear of carnality filled their innocent minds, chasing all else. She wouldn’t mention the Fenris again. And when he discovered who’d dared to breathe
his name in connection with the band of secret warriors, there’d be hell to pay.

“Then I shall do the same.” She looked back at him, now calm. “You spoke true and so you deserve to hear my fullest reasons.” Her head high, she went back to the window arch across the room. When she turned to look at him, she might as well have kicked him in the gut.

Rarely had he seen a woman more bent on having her way.

Regrettably, he also hadn’t ever gazed upon a female he found more desirable.

She clearly knew it, and she meant to take advantage.

Proving it, she moved to the small oaken table by the window where a ewer of finest wine and a jug of excellent heather ale waited almost conspiratorially amidst the remains of his evening repast. Equally annoying, as he truly did enjoy entertaining amiable women in his quarters, a half-score of ale cups and wine chalices stood at the ready, each one gleaming softly in the candlelight.

“You’ll surely join me?” She glanced at him as she lifted the ewer, pouring two measures of wine. When he didn’t move to accept her offering, she set his chalice on the table. Her gaze locking on his, she took a long, slow sip of the strong Rhenish wine.

“I think no’.” Sorley frowned and pushed away from the door. “Drinking my wine is no’ telling me why you’re here, seeking a man to—” He snapped his mouth shut, his scowl deepening when he was unable to finish the fool sentence.

He did start pacing, taking care not to stride too near to her and the cloud of disturbingly enchanting rose perfume that wafted about her.

“Not any man.” She touched the chalice to her lips, sipping slowly, provocatively. “I wish your aid, no one else’s.”

“Any man could perform such a deed.” Sorley glared at her.

“Could, I certainly agree. But would they? I believe not.” She set down the wine chalice. “Most men at court would
decline out of respect for my father. Those of less noble birth would refuse because they’d fear the repercussions. My sire is a scholar, not a fighting man, but he employs a garrison of formidable warriors.”

“I see.” Sorley did, and her explanation riled him unreasonably. “You chose me because I’m known no’ to stand in awe of my betters. And”—he couldn’t keep the anger from his voice—“because it’s rumored I’m wild and crazed enough to fear no man.

“Lastly, for the reason you already stated.” He crossed to the table and tossed back the wine he’d refused. Setting down the empty chalice, he deliberately let his gaze slide over her from head to toe. “Everyone at court is aware of my appetite for comely women.”

“Your appreciation of ladies was a consideration.” She held his gaze, not flinching.

“I said women, no’ ladies. There is a difference.”

“I know that very well.”

Sorley studied her with narrowed eyes. “Yet you wish to explore why that is so?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” She angled her head, her gaze as sharp as his. “I think not.”

“I say you dinnae ken what you’re asking.” His temper fraying, Sorley stepped closer and braced his arms on either side of her. He splayed his hands against the wall so she was caught between him and a colorful unicorn tapestry. “Sweet lass, I am no’ a weak-wristed, embroidered tunic-wearing courtier. A passionless man who likely beds his wife beneath the coverlet, all candles snuffed. If you had even the slightest idea of what it’s like to couple with a man like me, you’d run screaming from this room.”

Her chin came up. “I never scream. Nor do I cry. Not even when I wish I could.”

On her words, Sorley felt like an arse.

But his pride cut deeper.

So he leaned in, wishing his every breath wasn’t laced with her intoxicating rose scent. He touched his lips to the curve of her neck, nipped lightly. “I could make you cry out in pleasure, Lady Mirabelle.

“A pity I have no desire to do so.” He stepped back, folded his arms. “I learned long ago that dallying with highborn lasses brings naught but grief.”

Rather than color with indignation and sail from his room as he’d expected her to do, she simply lifted her hands to the jeweled clasp of her cloak and undid the pin so that her mantle fell open to reveal the outrageously provocative gown she wore beneath.

Surely designed to singe a man’s eyes, the raiment’s rich, emerald silk clung to her every dip and curve. Threads of deep bronze were woven into the fabric, an intricate pattern that glittered in the firelight. Her glossy red-gold hair shone to equal advantage, annoyingly lustrous against the jeweled tones of her dress. Worse, her bodice dipped low, offering tantalizing glimpses of her creamy skin and full, round breasts. A braided belt of golden cord circled her slim waist, the tasseled ends dangling suggestively near a very feminine place Sorley did not want to notice. More gold glittered along the delicate border edging the top of the gown, drawing his attention back to her lush bosom.

She looked like a living flame.

And damn if he didn’t feel a powerful urge to be burned to a crisp.

Instead, he frowned, ignoring the heat spearing straight to the swelling hardness he was sure she could see.

Secretly, he now hoped she did.

He was that angry.

For truth, he could see the top crescents of her nipples! They were a lovely pink and puckered, peeking up above her bodice’s gold-edged border.

“I’ll no’ deny you’re lovely, my lady.” He could hardly
speak. “Though along with erroneous judgment, I suspect your hearing is no’ what it should be. I told you I am no’ the man to fulfill your request.”

“I did not err in coming here. You are the only man who can help me.”

“You will easily find another.” Sorley turned his back on her to stare out into the cold, wet night. He didn’t like the way just looking at her did funny things to his chest. Elsewhere, he was setting like granite, curse the lass. “You found your way in here. You can leave by the same door.”

“I thought you were a man who courts danger.” She joined him at the window. “Was I mistaken? Are you not as daring as everyone says?”

“I am that and more, sweetness. What I am no’, is a fool. And I’m no’ of a mind to make myself one by tearing that fine gown off of you and initiating you in the pleasures of carnal passion.

“I’ll leave that honor to a man less wise.” He fixed his gaze on the misty drizzle, the darkly gleaming cobbles of the bailey far below. “There’s nothing you can say to sway me otherwise.”

“Not even if I told you helping me would enrage John Sinclair?”

Sorley stiffened, the name chilling his innards. He closed his eyes and took a long breath of the cold, damp air. Lady Mirabelle’s mention of the much-lauded, sneakily treacherous noble struck him like a fist in the ribs.

Sinclair was his greatest enemy.

Even if the dastard didn’t know Sorley was aware of his crimes. That one of the innocent young bastard women he’d once raped and tormented had been a lass Sorley loved as strongly as if she’d been his sister. Now she was no more and hadn’t been for many years. The courtier’s twisted pleasures had caused her to drown herself, ending her shame in the cold waters of the River Forth.

It was a death Sorley meant to avenge.

He was only waiting for the best opportunity.

“I see I guessed rightly.” Lady Mirabelle touched his arm. “You do not care for Sir John?”

“There are some who dinnae admire the man. I am one of them, aye.” Sorley tamped down the revulsion surging through him. He turned to meet Mirabelle’s gaze. “What does he have to do with you?”

Sorley had a good idea, but wanted to hear the words from her.

“He’s been making overtures.” She spoke plainly. “Enough so that I believe he intends to ask for my hand. As my father is”—she paused, drew a tight breath—“more accustomed to peering at his precious books than into the character of men, I fear he will accept such an offer. I am determined to avoid his bid at all costs.”

“So that is the way of it.” Sorley now understood why she wanted to be rid of her virginity. “You are hoping Sinclair will no’ want soiled goods?”

“I am certain he will not.” She looked up at him from beneath thick, surprisingly dark lashes.

“There are many ladies at court who welcome his interest.” Sorley wished it wasn’t true. “The King has aye held him in high esteem.”

“With all respect, the King is a Lowlander. I am Highland born and bred.” She lifted her chin, her pride unmistakable. “With some exceptions”—she blushed, clearly thinking of her scholarly sire—“we are not easily fooled. I also put out discreet enquiries.”

“Many women wouldn’t have bothered.” Sorley went back to the table, helping himself to another measure of wine. “They see only—”

“I am not ‘other women.’ I am myself, always.” She followed him across the room, boldly putting herself in his path when he would’ve started pacing again. “I am not blinded by
golden torques and beringed fingers, raiments adorned with jewels.