Highlander Untamed (41 page)

When he’d first caught sight of her, he’d been shocked, not only to have her seemingly materialize out of his dreams, but to see her so obviously exhausted. Her glorious hair flew in wild disarray around her pinched face, and dark shadows circled her luminous violet eyes. She must not have eaten in days; her wrinkled gown hung loose about her thin frame. His first impulse had been to take her in his arms and prove in the most basic way possible that she was real, but anger at seeing her like that had checked him.

When he thought of what she must have gone through to reach him, and the risk she’d taken in bringing him Sleat’s treasonous letter…He shuddered as the possibilities chilled him. If anything had happened to her, he would never have forgiven himself.

The timing of her arrival could not have been more ironic. After the arrival of the king’s missive, Rory had made the decision to retrieve his bride. Even if he had to take an army to Strome Castle, he would get her back. But he had another plan and hoped that laying siege would not prove necessary. Putting that plan into motion had delayed his pursuit of Isabel.

He’d still had many questions, but Isabel’s letter to the queen on his behalf was proof of her loyalty. Now, after what she’d brought him, there could be no doubt. Thanks to Isabel, he had the means to destroy Sleat and avenge the dishonor done his clan.

He laid her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open almost immediately, and Rory felt relief pour out of him.

“What happened?” she asked, disoriented.

“You fainted.”

“I don’t faint.” She tried to sit up but quickly lay back down.

He frowned. “When is the last time you ate?”

A delicate flush rose to her pale cheeks. “I don’t know.”

“I will send for something.” He started to get up, but she caught his arm.

“Please, don’t,” she beseeched. “I don’t want anything, not yet. Not until I know that you can forgive me. I’m so sorry, Rory—” Her voice broke. “There were many things I did wrong, and I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I would never betray you.”

He gathered her against him, her damp cheek pressed against his chest as he savored the sensation of holding her in his arms again. “I know.”

She looked up at him with watery eyes. “You do?”

“Aye,” he whispered, a husky caress deepening his voice. He could forgive her. Deep in his bones he knew that Isabel had not been merely acting over the past few months. She loved him; he knew she would not betray him. He must have accepted that when he sent her away, for she knew far too many of their secrets. If he’d truly believed her a traitor, he would not have allowed her to leave. Was not the badge of the MacLeods “Hold Fast”?
God’s blood,
he would hold fast to Isabel. She belonged to him, and he would have her. He could do his duty and have the woman he loved.

Rory bent over her, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze. “I will forgive you for not telling me about your uncle’s plan, but you will promise me that you will not listen in on any other private conversations—unintentional or not.”

Isabel blushed to her roots. “I promise. No more peeking through cracks in doors.”

“Good.” He swept a lock of hair from her face, looking at her tenderly. “And more important, you will also swear that you will never endanger yourself like this again.”

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks again. “I didn’t know what else to do—”

“Shush.” He stopped her with a press of his fingers against her softly parted lips. He’d waited long enough, he had to taste her. No longer able to hold back, he lowered his head, covering her mouth with his in a gentle, seductive kiss. His heart jumped at the achingly familiar taste. She was pure ambrosia; the honey of her mouth mingled with the bittersweet salt from her tears.

But Isabel did not want a gentle wooing. At the first touch of his mouth, she moaned, encircling her arms around his neck, bringing him down hard on top of her. She strained and pressed against him, kissing him harder, with an almost desperate plea.

Rory felt his own restraint snap, responding to the savage cry of her desire. The subtle seduction of moments before was replaced by a violent surge of demanding passion. His mouth moved over hers hungrily, possessively, branding her with his lips and tongue. She belonged to him; he would leave her no doubt. Her mouth opened, and he slid in his tongue, locking with hers in an intimate duel of thrust and parry. He delved deeper and deeper, tasting, exploring, as if devouring the very recesses of her soul.

It wasn’t enough. Not until he was thrust deep inside her and she was shaking around him with the spasms of her release. Not until they had burned away the memories of their parting with the fire of their passion.

Even then, Rory knew it would never be enough.

From the first touch of his mouth, Isabel’s entire body shivered with relief and desire. She was nearly undone by the familiar taste and distinctively masculine smell of him. That wonderful mixture of salt and heather. She moaned, pressing her body deeper into his familiar hold. Gentle curves against warm, hard muscle.

Her hands roamed his back and shoulders, exploring the familiar ridges of steel. He’d regained some of the weight he had lost from the fever, she realized. But there was still a hungry leanness to him that had not been there before the attack. His muscles bulged under her fingertips, and a spark of awareness surged through her. The heat between them flamed instantly, as if it had never been extinguished. As if it had merely lain dormant, smoldering, these last two weeks. There was an urgency to their movements that recalled the long separation.

Isabel felt the familiar anxious tingling low in her belly; she instinctively shifted her hip toward his. Rory clutched her sore bottom, holding her firmly against the solid proof of his claim. The pain of the saddle was forgotten in the hazy warmth flooding her senses.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, cupping her breasts, molding her hips, sliding down her thighs. His mouth pressed against her neck and shoulders, scraping the delicate skin with his rough beard. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh, she wanted him so badly.

She felt his fingers expertly work the laces of her gown. He pushed the filthy gown off her shoulders and pulled it over her hips to drop to the floor. Next went her stays and bolster. His fingers slid under the thin linen fabric of her sark, tauntingly tracing the curve of her breast. Isabel felt singed wherever he touched. When his mouth deliciously followed the path of his hands, she wriggled uncontrollably. She felt her hose slide off, felt her sark lifted over her head, until she lay completely naked. Awareness tinged her skin pink.

But she was beyond embarrassment.

And Rory had completely exhausted his reserves. Isabel was mesmerized by the power of the desire that flooded his eyes as they roamed her naked body.

His voice was rough with emotion. “You are so beautiful, my love.”

He unfastened the brooch that held his plaid and pulled his wrinkled
leine croich
over his head.

It was her turn to admire him. Boldly, her eyes raked the flat stomach lined with muscle, the broad chest, the muscular arms and legs. The sheer size of his stiffened arousal. He was spectacular.

“So are you,” she said huskily.

“It’s been too long.”

Her mouth felt too dry to speak. She nodded.

He slid down on top of her. At the touch of his skin to hers, Isabel melted. She felt sweetly damp and hot where their bodies joined. When his length pressed into her belly, she circled her hips against him encouragingly, sliding her damp opening against the head of his arousal.

“Isabel, if you do that again, I may unman myself.” His voice was gruff with desire.

Isabel ignored him, reaching for him, grasping the velvety skin firmly in her hand. She moved her hand to the rhythm he had taught her. She watched his face stiffen, his jaw clench as if in pain. Wantonly, she increased the speed. Mesmerized by the feeling of control over this powerful man, she watched his flat stomach muscles clench. She could feel the pressure building beneath her hand and rubbed her thumb over the hot drop that escaped from his hold.

“Damn you, love. We’ll see how much you enjoy such torture.”

Rory yanked her hand from him and roughly pinned both her hands above her head with one hand. She knew his strength; she would never be able to break free. Even if she wanted to. His golden hair spilled forward across his eyes, but she caught the wicked grin he gave her, and it sent another shiver up her spine.

His tongue traced a path down her chest, flicking to nudge her nipples erect. Blowing, raking his teeth lightly across the tips. She writhed beneath him with pleasure, her hips rising to search for his length. He moved back, refusing her request. His mouth enveloped the tip of her breast, and he sucked gently. Isabel felt the sharp sensation of pleasure at the squeeze of his mouth, but she wanted more. Much more.

Rory increased her agony as his mouth slowly, exquisitely, trailed down her belly. Licking and flicking her blazing, sensitive skin with his tongue.

His hand reached down between her legs. Her anticipation caused her breath to catch. She couldn’t think about anything other than his hand, his mouth. Anything but how much she wanted him to touch her.

He teased and taunted. Brushing, but not stroking the pulse that was clenching with desire. His mouth left feather kisses along the teasing path of his fingers. She lifted her hips to his mouth in silent entreaty.

“How does that feel, love?”

“Please, Rory.”

He chuckled. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“Please, I want to feel you touch me. I want you inside me.”

He groaned. “I think you have learned your lesson in torture, my love.”

His finger slid inside her as he began to bring her to heaven. She closed her thighs against his hand, increasing the pressure, the sweet friction that would make her shatter. She knew she was close, and her mind went black as the rush of heat and sharp spasms signaled her release. Quickly he moved over her, releasing her hands and driving into her in one all-consuming thrust. Isabel gasped to feel the strength of him inside her. The heavy, thick way he filled her. The sensation intensified the power of her climax as the spasms came harder and faster.

He grasped her hips, lifting her to meet his long thrusts. Isabel arched her back, urging him to take her harder, deeper. She needed to feel the force of his passion, to feel how much he needed her.

Rory sensed her urgency, and his hips pounded against her, wild with unbridled desire. He’d never been so rough with her before. She tightened against him again as wave after wave of sensation exploded inside her.

He threw back his head and sank deep into her, pulsing as the force of his release gripped him in its shuddering hold. He held her deep, allowing the waves of her own passion to ebb gently around him, until, strength depleted, he collapsed on top of her.

Naked flesh to naked flesh. Chest to chest, two hearts beating frantically together. He rolled to the side and gently moved a strand of damp hair from her eyes.

The tenderness in his gaze took her breath away. When she thought of what she’d nearly lost, Isabel could not prevent the tears that spilled down her cheeks. She might not know what their future held, but he’d forgiven her. It was enough.

He looked confused. “What’s wrong? Was I too rough with you?”

She shook her head and smiled. “I’m just so happy.”

He took her chin in his hand and dropped a light kiss on her nose. “You’re exhausted.” He tucked her under his arm and started issuing orders. “First food and a bath, then we sleep.”

For once, Isabel was only too happy to follow his command.

Chapter 27

A chill at the back of Rory’s neck stirred him from the viselike arms of slumber, but the warning had come too late. Falling asleep with Isabel after nearly two weeks of sleepless nights had dulled his senses, severely limiting his instincts. He woke to the cold press of steel against his neck and the malevolent, glassy-eyed Mackenzie hovering over them.

Rory stilled. The invigorating blood rush of battle swept all vestiges of sleep from his body. Every nerve ending flared, primed to attack.

Seeing that Rory was awake, the Mackenzie chief jostled Isabel. “Get up, whore.”

He wanted to reach out to protect her, but he dared not move. Not yet. Not with the blade so close. It took a moment for the haze of slumber to clear enough for Isabel to realize what was happening. Rory watched her eyes widen with fear.

“Move slowly, love,” Rory soothed. “Stay calm.”

The Mackenzie sneered, his expression teeming with the promise of vengeance. “I said get up, whore.”

Rory swore. “Do as he says, love.”

Isabel clutched a sheet to her nakedness and rose from the bed. The moon lit the sensuous curves of her figure to perfection.

The Mackenzie did not move the sword from Rory’s neck, but his eyes devoured her near nakedness. His grayish tongue darted out to wet his lips. Lust transformed his features into a mask of depraved cruelty. Rory felt every muscle in his body clench. Rage surged through him. Killing the man who dared threaten his woman would be a pleasure. But first he needed to create a diversion.