Tyler, Lynn - For Her Honor [For Her] (Siren Publishing Classic) (6 page)

She turned, a shy smile gracing her lips. “Thank you,” she said quietly, a faint flush painting her cheekbones a pale pink. “Not just for the escort but for the rescue as well.”

Robbie cleared his throat, totally lost for something to say. Prior to the injuries that had left him permanently scarred, he’d never had the need to seduce a lass to his bed. The very fact he had been the next in line to become the laird was enough to make the lasses flock to his bed. He didn’t have the charm either of his brothers had. Much to his embarrassment he felt his own cheeks redden. “Do not worry yourself over it, lass,” he said gruffly.

She nodded, her smile diminishing as she extracted her hands from his light grip. “If you will excuse me, I would like to wash off on the stream.”

He watched her walk into the woods, his eyes once again following the slight swing of her bottom. Blood rushed to his groin, stiffening certain parts, and he willed his very interested body to calm down as he joined Jamie and Colin at the dying fire. “I wonder why the lass wants to go to the nunnery,” he mused out loud. “She does not seem to be the type to take the veil.”

Colin’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You mean you have not asked her?”

Shaking his head, Robbie cursed his stupidity. “I do not even know her name,” he said, throwing a few rabbit bones into the flames.

“Lord in Heaven, man!” Colin yelped. “You mean to tell me you finally meet the woman of your dreams and you do not even ask her name? What are you? Daft?”

Robbie glowered at his friend to hide his embarrassment. “You are the one who is daft. Woman of my dreams…” he scoffed.

“It is plain to see,” Jamie said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You look at her as if she is an angel from Heaven.”

Growling low is his throat, Robbie flexed his hands into fists, hoping it would draw attention from the flush he could feel spreading up his neck. He did not like being so transparent in his inexplicable attraction to the lass. Especially given the fact that he would eventually have to leave her at the nunnery, only to turn around a marry another. “It is no matter,” he ground out. “I am to wed Jocelyn MacKenna.”

Jamie and Colin exchanged irritated glances. “Aye, Robbie,” Jamie drawled. “Ignore the one lass you have ever had a connection with in favor of some wench you have never met.”

“Enough!” Robbie roared, flinging a large rock into the fire in his temper. As debris scattered everywhere, a flaming bit of wood flew at him, bouncing off his bicep and burning its way through his shirt and into his skin.

Robbie swore loudly and creatively, more from irritation than pain as he peeled the material away from his skin and threw it in Jamie’s face. Colin approached him cautiously and gazed at the burn on his arm. “Mayhap you should soak it for a wee bit to take away the sting,” he suggested.

Robbie stomped off toward the stream in the woods, muttering under his breath. At least the pain streaking up his arm distracted him from a different sort of pain. His scowl deepened as Colin called after him. “Her name is Corrine!”

“Damn you,” he called back testily. How could Colin have thought to introduce himself when Robbie had not even considered it? God, he must be more of an idiot than he thought.

“You are just angry because you have been too busy staring at the lass to remember the manners your good mother taught you,” came the laughing reply.

“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Robbie hollered irritably. “’Tis the idiots I am surrounded with every day that drive me to the edge of insanity.”

Jamie’s voice floated on the air as he shouted his response. “’Tis the fact that you haven’t had a decent tumble in years to keep your temper from souring. Do yourself a favor, man. Find a willing lass and give her a good fucking. It does wonders for the soul.”

Robbie did the only thing he could think of. He let lose a string of curses so creative, his own father would be turning in his grave. He suggested a couple of things the men could do to themselves as he walked away. The laughter of the two men followed him into the woods.

Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he blew out a breath and tried to calm his breathing. It would be a long trip to the nunnery.

Robbie strode angrily to the water and almost fell on his face when he saw the chestnut-haired nymph standing knee deep in the cold stream.

Her plaid was draped over a nearby rock, and her borrowed shirt was wet all the way through. The material clung to every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her nipples were clearly visible, outlined against the wet linen. Damp locks of hair were escaping from the knot she had piled on top of her head to curl becomingly around her face. She lifted a slender leg and scrubbed it carefully. All he could think about was those strong slim thighs wrapped around his waist as she rode him vigorously.

Robbie’s body instantly reacted and firmed harder than a stone. He’d never,
never
, had such a reaction to a lass before, even when he had been just a boy.

He wondered about the damage it would do to his alliance with the MacKenna clan if he broke his contract to marry the shrew Jocelyn in order to marry this small bundle of lightning. His heart leapt at the thought then fell just as quickly. The girl didn’t want to marry and was heading to the nunnery. The realization of that did nothing to cool his body.

She plucked at the wet shirt and turned around, bending at the waist to scoop up another handful of water. He couldn’t stifle his gasp of astonishment when the tunic pulled up high on her thighs and revealed the sweet curve of her bottom. His cock jerked wildly, throbbing insistently behind his kilt. It would be a long trip to the nunnery indeed.

Chapter
4

Jocelyn sighed with pleasure as she waded knee deep in the stream. The water was icy, having originated from high up in the mountains, but as she was a Highland lass, born and bred, she really didn’t mind the cold flow.

She plucked at the linen shirt with irritation as it clung to her midsection. She wished she could remove it to wash properly but was well aware of the presence of the men just a scant distance away. She scooped up a handful of rough, gritty mud and scrubbed her face as she contemplated her situation.

The men had agreed to escort her to the nunnery though they obviously had business elsewhere. She was grateful for their help, although it meant she would have to spend a few more days in the company of their disturbingly attractive leader. If she had been betrothed to this man, she might have been intrigued just enough to consider going through with the marriage. There was something in his dark brown eyes that called to her. A loneliness haunted them, a sort of vulnerability she doubted the strong man would allow anyone else to see. He covered it so well with his gruff exterior, others probably thought him to be merely temperamental.

Jocelyn dimly heard some very creative cursing and smothered a giggle. She hadn’t been aware a person could do the actions the leader was suggesting to one of his men. She shook her head to clear it of her fantasy. Such a man would want a demur wife, one who would cringe or perhaps swoon when such language touched her delicate ears. She was more likely to swear just as creatively than faint.

Lost in her own thoughts, Jocelyn didn’t notice the arrival of the handsome man until his surprised gasp shattered the air. She looked ruefully down at the clinging tunic then over her shoulder at the large male. She supposed it wasn’t very ladylike to be splashing around in the water in nothing but a tunic that only fell to her mid-thighs.

She almost laughed aloud at the expression on his face. His jaw had dropped, and his eyes widened until they were large round orbs in his face. Suddenly, the lids lowered until his eyes were half closed. The rich brown depths swept over her body from shoulder to her knee where the water blocked his view and back again, pausing to linger on the wet cloth clinging to her hips and again on the curve of her breasts.

“I suppose it would take too much to convince you I fell in?” she asked lightly, well aware of his train of thought.

He grinned, the action lighting up his eyes. Mesmerized, she let herself gaze into them until he moved forward. He splashed into the stream beside her and made a great show of pretending to fall in himself. “It seems I fell in myself,” he said jokingly, slicking back his dark hair.

Lungs seizing at the sight of the water running down his temple, she resisted the urge to follow its trail with her tongue. “Aye,” she finally murmured. “It does seem to be slippery on the rocks.”

“Aye,” he echoed. His voice trailed off, and he looked around, suddenly seeming embarrassed by his show of playfulness.

Jocelyn sought for something to say into the abruptly uncomfortable silence. Her gaze caught on his arm and the angry red welt that was steadily rising on it. “You have burned yourself,” she said, moving to his side.

He flinched when she took his arm between her hands, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she had actually touched the burn. He stood awkwardly as she examined the injury. It was almost as if he wasn’t used to being touched. Surely a man this compelling had to throw women from his bed nightly.

He cleared his throat, pulling her gaze up to his face. Gently, he pulled his arm from her grip and tugged at his wet plaid. He gazed at her nose for a few seconds, seemingly unable to meet her eyes. Finally he cleared his throat again. “You are quite skilled at healing,” he said roughly.

“Aye,” Jocelyn said. “I was taught by our village healer.”

She waded forward a few steps in an attempt to recapture his arm and found herself staring at his chest. It was an impressive chest, nicely muscled with small brown nipples peeking through the matt of hair.

She blushed and bit her lower lip as she forced herself to move her gaze elsewhere. She heard a small groan leave his throat and jerked her eyes back to his. “Are you all right?”

He nodded jerkily, and his eyes seemed to glaze over as he gazed down at her. His eyes were focused somewhere south of her own. Farther south than her mouth. Even farther south than her chin. Jocelyn blushed when she realized he was gazing at the collar of her tunic where it gaped slightly. She cursed her fair genes as a blush moved steadily up her chest and neck.

Jocelyn jumped when he groaned again and nearly fell on her bottom when he stepped away from her suddenly, scrubbing his hands restlessly through his hair. He blew out a breath and turned his back on her. He stood with his hands on his hips, his whole body held rigidly. What she wouldn’t do to mold herself against him, to wrap her arms around his middle and feel his lips on hers.

She was going to the nunnery, and once there, she would never get the chance to feel what it would be like to be held close to a man, to feel his hands wander over her body, to share the same breath as a male. She looked over at the man. He certainly seemed able to provide her with those experiences. Could she really ask him?
Yes
, her mind screamed at her. She was considered the wild MacKenna sister for a reason.

She waded over to him and placed her hands on his back, gently massaging the tight muscles of his back. He was shockingly warm and hard, and she instantly wanted to drape herself around him. To take him in her heart and protect him with everything she had. “What is your name?” she asked, surprised when her voice sounded husky.

“Robbie,” he answered. His voice was low and rough, and a shiver raced through his body.

“Robbie,” she repeated, testing his name on her tongue. She wondered if he was related somehow to Colin Gunn. Robbie Gunn. It somehow sounded wrong, as if he had been given the wrong name. The Robbie suited him, but Gunn…it just seemed wrong. “Will you not turn around?” she asked softly.

He sighed and turned around, locking his stare somewhere over her left shoulder.

“Am I so unappealing you do not even want to look at me?” she asked quietly.

He shoved his hand through his hair again and looked at her briefly before gazing over her shoulder again. “Ah, lass,” he said. “It is just the opposite.”

Jocelyn fought the need to smile at his obvious discomfort as her body heated even more. The man wanted her. “Then why will you not look at me?”

He fidgeted awkwardly and took a step slightly away from her. She followed and decreased the distance between them. He took another step back, and she took another forward. They continued the routine, a clumsy dance of sorts, until he slipped and was forced to stumble into her or fall over.

He ended up with his hands on her shoulders and her head tucked neatly under his chin. She was plastered against his front and could feel the evidence of his desire prodding her belly insistently. Instantly a flood of moisture gathered between her legs, and she shifted restlessly.

“Lass,” he said quickly, trying to put some distance between them. “The thoughts I am having of you are highly inappropriate. You are to be a nun.”

“Aye,” Jocelyn breathed. “But I am not a nun yet. Please…” She searched for the words that might convey what she was feeling for him, the words that might convince him to ease the ache growing between her legs. “I am hot and achy between my legs. You can help me…Robbie,
please
. This may be my only chance to experience the pleasures of flesh.”

He moaned, and his grip shifted from trying to push her away to pulling her closer. “Ah, lass…’tis wrong.”