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Authors: Joanne Rock

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

For the Highlander's Pleasure (2 page)

BOOK: For the Highlander's Pleasure
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“But I know that I’m close to Caladan and I seek a Caladan lord,” Finn prompted, hoping she would relent and show him the way, since she must know it.

Scowling, she heaved herself on the back of her mare before he could assist her. Her thighs squeezed the horse’s flanks, her wet skirts sending rivulets of water down the beast’s sides.

“I know not where you should head,” she replied. She leaned over the animal’s back, murmured in its ear and nudged its side. “But even if you find such a lord, no Border earl would lower himself to hire a Highlander to fight his battles.”

With a rumble of hooves, the lusty woodland sprite was gone. He would almost have thought he’d imagined her altogether if not for the damp imprint her delectable body had left upon his clothes.

So, whistling for his own mount tucked in the forest nearby, Finn trusted his instincts about the cheeky lass and set off through the trees to follow her wherever she might lead.

Chapter Two

 

No warriors came to the feast of gathering.

Violet shivered her way into a fresh chemise and rich yellow kirtle, the hearth fire in her small sleeping chamber doing naught to ward off the unease that pricked her skin. She’d returned home from her journey to the riverbank to find the keep empty of men save her father. None of his knights sat in the hall with him for fear of being chosen as his champion—or perhaps they were more afraid of being chosen as her mate. Some said her father had allowed her to run wild, and perhaps that was true. She was more apt to be in the woods than the kitchens, testing herbal mixtures or digging in the dirt to ensure the healthiest plants for her remedies.

Still, marriage to her would mean wealth and lands for her husband. Surely her unconventional ways would be a small inconvenience.

“Violet?” Inna’s voice came through the chamber door. “Your da is keen to see you in the hall.”

“Aye,” Violet muttered, nervous at the thought of facing her father when no one had answered his call.

Digging through the silks and linens of her wardrobe, she searched for a sheer swath to wrap about her hair and neck. The herbs from Morag’s failed potion had left her skin hot and vaguely itchy. She could not bear the thought of any heavy fabric upon it. Her whole body felt oversensitive.

As she found her lightest silk, Violet peered into a small looking glass mounted inside her wardrobe. By the brightness of her eye and the flushed appearance of her skin, she guessed she might be feverish. Perhaps riding home in wet clothes had not been wise, but she’d been unsettled by her conversation with the Highlander. Curse his arrogance. The stranger had been so certain he would be her father’s champion when he did not even know the path to her keep.

Wrapping the fragile silk about her hair and neck, she hid some of the evidence of her fevered skin and hurried out of the chamber.

“How is his mood?” she asked Inna, finding the maid pacing the gallery with a small torch in one hand and a kitten cradled in the other.

“Bitter and brooding,” the older woman informed her, holding the torch before them like a beacon to illuminate the keep’s treacherous walkways and narrow stairs.

Inna had been with Violet since Violet’s mother had passed some eight years ago, so she was well versed in reading the moods of the keep’s master. Every resident of Caladan looked to the lord’s cups like a weather vane to see which way his mood blew. After a grievous battle wound to his leg during an old raid by the English, Violet’s father had changed from a celebrated knight to a harsh, withdrawn tyrant.

“We must divert him quickly,” Violet suggested, resisting the urge to put a hand over her heated skin beneath the neck cloth. The itching had not subsided and, if anything, had only increased. “We must send away the jongleurs and the minstrel she hired. Perhaps they will remain with us a few days until he is in better spirits for entertainment. For tonight, you might play a tune on your lute. He always enjoys your songs.”

“Ach,” Inna grumbled, snuggling the gray kitten closer as she stepped over a missing stair on their way down to the hall. “You mean my music puts him quickly to sleep.”

“Then I should say the rest of us enjoy the effect your ballads have upon him.” Violet squared her shoulders as they neared the entrance to the great hall.

And stopped short as the sound of booming male laughter emanated from the echoing space, bouncing through the rafters. It was not a sound Violet had anticipated on a day when her father had been left to sup alone at his feast of gathering.

Unless… Dread pooled in her belly.

Hurrying, Violet stepped over the threshold in time to see her da clap a hand upon the shoulder of the largest man she had ever met. The Highlander she had sent away at the riverbank.

She stifled a gasp.

The sight of the warrior lord had an immediate and fierce effect upon her. Tall and broad, the great Scots chieftain loomed above her father’s height. His dull chain mail gleamed bronze in the firelight, dusty from his time on the road. Still, the fine cloth of his garments beneath the mail was apparent. The sleeves of his tunic had been embroidered heavily by a skilled needle, the patterns of exotic beasts and interwoven swords apparent even though the color of the thread was no different than the pale shade of the tunic itself. And though the lower half of the warrior’s body was hidden by a trestle table, Violet spied the hilt of a heavy, Frankish sword at his side, a weapon that would have been prized by any knight.

Even his aspect appeared fashioned for war. His broad forehead and straight nose formed a strong expression emulated by the shape of most men’s helms. Perhaps his face had been used as a guide for the metalworker’s hands. A few days’ growth of beard hid the specifics of his jawline, but she suspected that, too, was squared and unrelenting. His hair, at least, gave him some appearance of humanity. The dark locks fell to his shoulders without the knotty, matted quality that marked most men’s hair.

Aye, he was an impressive-looking man if only for the fierceness of him. But even that did not explain the sudden blaze of heat in Violet’s skin, a distinct warming of her flesh from the tingle under her neck cloth to the spreading fire along her breasts and over her belly. Her discomfort was sharp and immediate, leaving her confused and distracted when she needed to focus on this new development.

“This is my daughter, Violet.” Her father waved her closer. “Daughter, you will want to welcome Finn Mac Néill, our most honored guest.”

The Highlander turned to her, fixing her with his icy blue stare. Impossibly, her skin heated further. She felt the flush creep slowly from her neck up to her jaw and over her cheeks. She could not think about where else the heat crawled, for it was most unseemly.

Silently she cursed Morag’s herbs and herself for requesting them in the first place. She walked toward the men standing by the hearth behind the dais. Inna followed by a few paces.

“He is a Highlander,” Violet observed foolishly, her manners vanishing under duress. “That is to say, you are most welcome, sir.” She curtsied low to atone for her poor greeting. “We are simply unaccustomed to seeing many Highlanders in Caladan.”

Finn’s expression remained placid. “Perhaps that is because the natives refuse to provide foreigners with directions to your keep.”

Maybe the warrior was not so placid as he appeared. Clearly he had not appreciated her attempt to misguide him. For him to have found Caladan so soon, he must have learned very quickly after their encounter that she had not spoken truthfully. Before her da could pose a question or form a response to a statement that surely must have puzzled him, however, Finn continued.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Lady Violet. I am pleased to serve you.” He made a brief bow, although his stance managed to lack any real deference.

In fact, his eyes were anything but polite as his gaze combed slowly over her. Was it her imagination, or did the grin he smothered suggest that he recalled the way he’d last seen her?

Somehow his glance worsened the heat upon her skin, making the sensitive flesh pulse with fresh awareness.

She turned to her father to see if he noticed the way the man gazed upon her. Surely even through the haze of drink her da would not appreciate the stranger’s hot, lingering stare? But the earl merely clenched scarred knuckles around his cup and took another sip.

“Father, may I speak with you a moment?” She stared at him meaningfully, willing him to eject the mammoth Highlander from the hall.

“We will talk all you like at sup with our new champion,” her sire spluttered, his words indistinct thanks to the great amounts of wine he must have consumed. “And you will endeavor to entertain our guest properly.”

“Of course,” she assured him, unwilling for the foreigner to witness the full extent of her father’s temperament. She would find no help from that quarter. “Please take your seats, my lords, and I will call for the repast.”

Finn’s gaze followed her, and Violet had the sense that his sea-blue eyes missed nothing. Was he considering the weakened state of Caladan’s lord? Or disrobing her with his mind? The heat in her skin simmered at the thought and she could not understand what had come over her. Could the herbs have irritated her skin that much? It seemed strange that the condition would worsen when the Highlander looked her way. Then again, perhaps embarrassment somehow added to the effect of Morag’s blend of stems and leaves. No man had ever seen her as Finn had today—her tunic unlaced and breasts bared. Maybe the fire along her flesh was increased by her discomfiture.

Absently she rubbed her hands over her arms and tried to distract herself from the maddening sensation by pondering the stranger’s real motive for coming to Caladan. He was no new knight seeking fame in answering her father’s call. Nay, even she could tell Finn Mac Néill was a warrior in his prime—a man of means and experience. Did he come to assess how easily Caladan could be wrested away from the sickly lord who held it?

Shoving aside the thought, Violet convened with Inna and the servers to begin the meal. She had spent a sennight overseeing the food preparations at her father’s behest, expecting more guests than the one man bold enough to answer the call. There was mackerel and herring, salmon and trout, all freshly caught for the occasion.

Hurrying back to take her place with the men, she prayed for strength to get through this meal. She feared her father would make plans for her betrothal to the one man who had accepted his invitation to the feast. She could not allow that to happen, especially when Finn had hidden motives for being there.

Besides, the warrior’s gaze was far too disconcerting. Until she figured out the strange effect he had upon her, she wished to keep as distant from him as possible.

“Daughter, you will dance now,” her father ordered, gesturing to the harpist who had just begun plucking a tune for the meal. “Entertain our guest.”

“Oh.” Her gasp of dismay was surely heard by all save her father, who seemed too concerned with having his cup refilled to notice. How could she possibly dance when she was so unsteady?

Her gaze met—locked—with Finn’s. She expected to see lustful eagerness in his eyes. Instead, his brows slashed downward in a forbidding scowl. The expression was fleeting—there one moment and vanished the next. He turned toward her father.

“I assure you…” The visitor spoke up. “I require no entertainments. A hearth fire and your fine spirits are far more comfort than I have had in many moons.”

Finn lifted his cup and clanked it heartily against her father’s vessel. And just like that, the dancing was forgotten. Her sire laughed loudly and waved to the harpist to keep playing.

While Violet enjoyed a small sigh of relief that she’d eluded her father’s command, she could not deny a sliver of gratitude toward the hulking guest for diverting him. Finn’s lingering gaze upon her now told her he had done so deliberately and for her benefit.

But why? Did he think this one act would make her look upon him favorably?

The heat of her fevered skin swelled again, making her twitch restlessly as the servers began their parade of trays for her inspection. She nodded approval impatiently, thinking that Finn would bring naught but trouble. She needed to warn Morag that a warrior had arrived to stamp out mischief in the forest. The wise woman would do well to remain indoors until the trouble had passed. Besides, Violet needed to see her mentor again to obtain a cure for the unsettling reaction to the useless love potion.

Because right now, taking a seat beside Finn at the table, she hardly knew how she would survive the meal without her whole body taking flame.

* * *

 

The keep’s free-flowing wine would not quench Finn’s thirst.

And he had made a monstrous effort to douse the fire inside him over a meal in which his dining companion sighed and fidgeted, stretched and squirmed on the bench beside him. Her constant activity had, by turns, set her knee to graze his thigh, loosened her neck cloth until it slipped down her back, and repeatedly tightened her bodice along the tops of the breasts he remembered so vividly from early that afternoon.

If he did not know better, he would believe she sought his notice. Yet her quiet, surly manner said otherwise. Clearly, she had not wanted him to serve her father in the first place or she would not have pretended ignorance when he asked about the Caladan earl back in the forest. Why then did her face flush so deeply whenever he spoke to her? Indeed, the warmth emanating from her womanly form enhanced the scent of her skin—an enticing floral fragrance that sharpened his senses and made him keen for a taste of roses.

BOOK: For the Highlander's Pleasure
11.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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