Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (36 page)

Silence stretched between them. Finally she drew a deep breath and scowled as she reached for the boy.

Their arms brushed as she slipped hers under Kelvin's body. Feelings speared through him, fierce as the crash of lightning, sizzling down his nerve endings like wildfire. It was passion and lust and heat. But it was also something more that made him want to hold her in his arms and keep the world at bay.

A strange feeling to have for a woman he was sent to kill. The memory spurred another shot of fierce emotion through him.

Shona turned away first, her eyes wide as she glanced to the right. Dugald followed her gaze, and there, not ten rods away, stood Hadwin. He watched them for a moment, his expression sober, and then turned away.

Shona drew in a deep breath as she pulled Kelvin into her arms. Without another word she slipped into her tent.

It was a long night. Without the wind and rain it seemed deadly quiet, almost hauntingly calm.

Shona lie on her pallet, sleepless and restive, Dragonheart heavy and cold on his chain. She shifted the amulet and tried to get comfortable.

Morning would come all too soon. They would have to travel to Blackburn without a quarter of their company, for Rachel.never would allow the wounded to be forced on.

Thus the remainder of the journey would be increasingly dangerous. And thus she needed all the rest she could get. She thrashed about, half hoping Rachel would wake and talk to her. But that was not to be, for her cousin did not even stir, no matter how much noise Shona made. Shona sighed, then, determined to sleep, she closed her eyes tightly and thought of her favorite place on the bank of the Gael Burn where flowers grew in wild profusion in the summer and heather bloomed bright as a promise in the fall.

In her mind she sat near the water's edge, laughing with her cousins as they raced their tiny, self-built watercrafts down the current. But suddenly Shona's vessel tipped and spilled out the figures of mud she had fashioned into people. Barefoot and laughing, she leaped into the water to save them, but when she glanced up into the sun, a shadow blocked the sunlight.

A man took her hand, and suddenly she was no longer a child, but a woman. She smiled as Dugald's fingers closed over hers and said not a word to her cousins as he led her from the water to the woods beside the burn. The maples here grew stout and lovely, with silvery trucks kissed with moss that traveled down their elegant lengths onto the floor of the forest.

On that nature-soft bed they lay down together and twas there that he kissed her. The caress was sweet and lingering, filled with hope and promise. But in a moment it changed. Passion built like a stoked flame. Desire flared between them, igniting them body and soul until they were straining against each other with unrestrained desire, stroking and...

Shona awoke with a start. Breathless and disoriented, she sat up and silently chastised herself.

What the devil was wrong with her? She had just broken off an engagement, and now here she was, lusting after another. Had she no shame? No pride? No sense? Dugald was a scoundrel, a womanizer.

Maybe. In truth, she no longer knew what he was, but that was because he refused to tell the truth.

That couldn't be a good sign. Still, whatever he was, she was not in love with him. She merely desired him—the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice, the— Heaven's wrath! She was on her feet in an instant.

One glance about told her that Kelvin and Rachel were still fast asleep and undisturbed by dreams of any kind. All was quiet, safe and peaceful.

Outside the tent, not a breath of air stirred. Cloud-soft mists muffled her exit. Every tent was as quiet as darkness. Indeed, all the world seemed to be asleep—all the world except for herself. From the entrance of her tent, she could not even see a guard. It was as if she were the only person in a magical world.

Not far from camp, a burn rumbled along its shallow course. Barefoot and silent, Shona walked to its edge where she dipped her toes into its hustling waves. The water was cold, awakening her even more. Her thoughts strayed.

They would soon reach Blackburn Castle. But she would not stay long. Soon she would leave there and return to her home. But what then?

Obviously she would not marry William. And indeed, she had found none other who held her interest. None except...

"Why do you delight so in taking risks?"

Shona pivoted toward the voice, but even in the darkness, she could not help but identify the speaker.

"What are ye doing here?"

Dugald stepped toward her. "I believe twas the contented snoring of the others that kept me from sleep." He fell silent for a moment, and when he next spoke, his tone was deep and quiet. "Either that, or twas thoughts of you that disturbed me."

Shona felt her pulse leap then silently scolded herself. He was a womanizer, she reminded herself, a scoundrel. She would not let such thoughts scramble her thinking. She would not. "Or thoughts of Mavis," she said.

She could see the flash of his grin even in the darkness.

"Are you jealous, Damsel?"

"Jealous?" It came out as a soft gasp of sound. "Of what?"

"Of me with another."

"Hardly!"

"Of thinking of me kissing another." He stepped closer. "Touching another. Lying with another."

He was directly in front of her now. And yet somehow this seemed no more real than her dreams of only moments before. There was an unearthly quality about the night, a rare, pristine beauty, for even in the darkness, it seemed she could see the splendor of every emerald frond, every dewy droplet.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. "I am not jealous."

"Truly?" The word was little more than a thought, it was so quiet and so close. “Then you have me at a grave disadvantage, lass, for when I think of you with another, tis as if my very heart has been torn from my chest."

Shona held her breath and turned her head sharply to catch his gaze, certain she would see laughter in his eyes. But there was none. Even in the darkness, she was certain of that.

"Ye are jealous?" she whispered. "Of me?"

"Believe me, lass, if I could have it another way, I would. Twould be better to have the flesh flailed from my back than to be enamored with you."

She opened her mouth to object, but suddenly his lips touched her neck. Every thought flew from her mind as her eyes fell closed and her head dropped back to appreciate the glory of his caress.

"Mother of God, I cannot think when you are near." His right hand slipped behind her back, drawing her closer. Sparks soared. His eyes fell closed. "And when I touch you..." His fingers tightened upon her waist as he fell silent.

But to her shame, she wanted to hear his words. "What?"

"I no longer care what you have done."

"What I have—" she began, but he kissed her lips.

The caress was not gentle, but fierce and possessive and searing.

She tried to think, to tell him this was wrong, that there were a hundred reasons it was not to be, but for the life of her she could think of none, and suddenly she was kissing him back.

He crushed her to him. Passion ripped free of its bonds.

Beside the burn there was a bed of moss. It was as soft as thistledown and as thick as carpet against her back. The mists rolled around them like a curtain of silver velvet, hiding them away, sheltering them from reality.

All the world was a dream, his hands magic, his voice ecstasy. Their clothes slipped away in that same dreamlike state, and suddenly there were no boundaries. His hands were everywhere, hot and strong as they slid down her arms, warm and tender as they touched her breasts, her abdomen and her thighs. She writhed beneath him, needing his touch and more. Much more—his heart, his love.

The realization terrified her, but still she could not stop.

"I want ye," she said softly, and though she knew he did not understand the full meaning of her words, neither would she explain just now.

Instead, she rolled onto her side and kissed him long and hard. Then, aching with a need as primitive as time, she pressed him onto his back. Knees bent and cushioned by the moss, she straddled him.

He lay propped on his elbows, watching her.

Above them the moon found its way through the silvery veil of fog and shone on him. In the magical light of the three quarters moon, he looked like a bronze statue. Or mayhap twas not the light at all.

Silent and awed, Shona slipped her hand across his chest. She could feel his heart beat with a mystical power, and she was drawn to it. Leaning down, she kissed the spot where it pounded the strongest. His eyes fell closed. Muscles taut, he shivered beneath her caress. The gossamer feelings tingled through his body to hers, making them tremble in unison. But the feelings were too fresh, too strong to quit, so she kissed him again, then again, first his throat, then his shoulders, then his nipples.

His breath came hard and fast, but hers ran along in time, and she could not quit. She smoothed her hands downward, absorbing each feeling, memorizing each moment. Her fingers skimmed across his pectorals, then over the undulating plane of his abdomen. He inhaled sharply, the sound a hiss of hot pleasure as he arched into her hands.

She moved downward still more, transfixed by his masculine beauty, overcome by desire. Her fingers brushed his erection. His every muscle leaped at the contact.

Shona snapped her gaze to his face, but his eyes were still closed, his expression rapt. Intense heat flooded her, and suddenly there was nothing she could do but slip her hands around the strength of his desire.

Dugald sucked air through his teeth and went still beneath her. Primitive need consumed her like a well-stoked fire. Between their bodies, Dragonheart swung like a magic pendulum, winking red fire in the moonlight.

Shona slipped one hand lower, over the soft sacks between Dugald's legs.

He rasped out a breath and came to life like a springing beast. Suddenly he was on top, kissing her with a wild passion.

There was no longer any question of stopping. Not if the world came to an end could they be parted.

She cradled him between her legs and welcomed him inside. Twas now her turn to go perfectly still. Feelings, new and hot and frightening, surged through her.

Dugald forced himself to go still, to wait, to let her adjust. He concentrated on her face, on her thoughts, so clear suddenly in her eyes. The moonlight, soft as a velvet robe, shone on her, turning her eyes to emerald and her hair to sparkling rubies. God, she was beautiful, clever, proud, and a thousand other things that made him love her.

He closed his eyes to the thought. But there was no hope of denying the truth. Against all good sense, he loved her, he thought, and slowly, gently, he rocked into her.

Pleasure, sweet as old wine. But he would not drink it too fast, would not take too much at once, lest he could not enjoy it completely. Instead, he would sip slowly and appreciate every piquant flavor, every erotic scent.

He moved again, pressing them together for a moment, and he noticed now that her eyes were closed and her head pressed back into the moss beneath them.

The first glow of euphoria shone on her face. Twas the sight of that which nearly made him lose control. But he held onto it with awful patience, and leaning down, kissed her shoulder, her throat and her lips.

She moaned into his caress and pressed against him. Her taut body contracted around him. He tensed, fighting to retain the discipline he'd been taught since birth. But there were no guidelines here, for he was beyond the boundaries of everything he had experienced in the past.

Pressing his palms into their mossy bed, he arched away, gritting his teeth and grasping the reins of control once again.

She moaned again and pressed against him, beginning a steady rhythm.

He tried to fight it, tried to be gentle with her, to bring her the full cup of pleasure, but suddenly she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him in even deeper.

There was nothing he could do. Pleasure drowned him. Ecstasy called. With a feral growl of feeling, he buried himself to the hilt.

She gasped beneath him, but did not stop the rhythm. Instead, she pressed harder, faster, and suddenly it was a race of pleasure into pleasure. All thought was lost, all logic abandoned. They were one body, one soul, one being, reaching for euphoria.

Dugald felt her tension increase, felt her pleasure build then heard her gasp of surprise as orgasm took her.

He watched her as she found Utopia, watched her eyes fill with wonder, felt her body tighten with consuming pleasure. He could not stop his own release, but neither could he risk her. With a Herculean effort, he drew out and let himself erupt.

Sated and heavy, he rolled onto his side in the moss and cradled her in his arms.

Their breath melded, their hearts beat in unison. Peace stole over him. He stroked her hair, breathing in her scent, memorizing the feel of her skin, the sound of her breath.

Long ago, in another world, Dugald had been told there was no crime so heinous as to fail to appreciate the joy one is given.

He lay in silence and let the moment fill his soul. For this instant perfect peace was his. Soon that peace would be shattered, and he would be forced to fight. Then he would do what he must. But for this night he would hold her.

Yet the night lasted only for a moment.

"Dugald." She broke the silence with nothing more than his name, but even in that moment, he felt her fear.

"What is it?"

"The camp!" She scrambled to her feet, pulling on her nightrail as she did so.

The peace was shattered like a crystal goblet.

He was beside her in an instant, his tunic already snatched over his head. His course was set.

Where she went, he went.

"What is it?" he asked.

"There is someone in the camp," she rasped, and lunged in that direction, but suddenly a dark figure appeared beside her.

Shona gasped and stumbled to a halt.

"You are right," said the man, his voice deeper than sin. "And there is someone
here."